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#debris
blueiskewl · 9 months
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The Submersible Titan Implodes
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galina · 4 months
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We walked out in oolong rain far beyond the city lights
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celtic-crossbow · 6 months
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Whumptober 2023
No. 1: “How Many Fingers am I Holding Up?” | No. 5: Debris
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader (pre-relationship)
Setting: Prison era
Warnings: Head injury
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‘Please, don’t be dead. Please, don’t be dead!’ The railing on the stairs wobbled— a testament to the poor solidity of the building— as you hurried down the two floors separating you from the archer. The both of you agreed to tread carefully when entering the old hospital, the look of it not inspiring confidence but the probability of what it could contain overpowering any hesitance. Medical supplies were scarce in this world. Two Tylenol tablets and a pack of gauze would mean everything in what used to be the simplest of situations. 
“Daryl?” You called as loudly as you dared after shoving open the heavy metal door to the ground level. The hole in the flooring was easy to spot with the beam of your flashlight, several feet wide with dust still rising from the collapse. Your stomach twisted when there was no immediate reply, but another call was not necessary when you saw a piece of debris shift. A low groan followed the movement. You would swear that the moisture in your eyes was from the dust in the air. 
You had to hold the light in your mouth to help move the rubble covering him, but there he was. A little worse for wear but in one piece and blinking up at you with a dazed expression. The flashlight was propped against some of the wreckage so that your hands were free to help him sit up. 
“Are you okay?” He blinked a few more times and pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead. He didn’t answer, minutely swaying where he sat. “Dixon, are you with me?” 
Daryl finally seemed to realize you were speaking to him and met your eyes, more than a little disoriented. “Huh?” 
Worry gnawed at your heart. “Are you alright? How do you feel?”
“Like I jus’ fell through the floor fer a half full bottle’a meds.” His speech was a bit slurred, his movements slow and jerky. He held up the aforementioned antibiotics and shook the bottle lightly. “Still got ‘em though.”
You couldn’t help but smile. “Let me look you over and then we’ll get out of here.” You left no room for argument. The archer quickly squeezed his eyes shut when the flashlight was pointed toward his face, swatting at your hand lazily. “Stop it, I need to look at your eyes, you big baby.” 
“Yeah, yeah.” He slowly peeled open one and then the other, keeping his hand in front of them while they adjusted to the light. After a few seconds, he dropped his arm so you could see two evenly sized, reactive pupils. 
“Good. That’s good.” Lowering the light, you reached for the back of his head before he could think to stop the unwanted touch. Your fingers quickly probed at a wet, raised area. 
“Hey! Tha’ hurts, woman!”
“You’ve got a decent sized bump on your noggin, Dixon. How many fingers am I holding up?” You had perfected the art of ignoring his griping over the span of months you’d spent with him, a feat that the others in your little apocalypse family wished they all could achieve. Or maybe he just wasn’t as grumpy with you to begin with. Your hand hovered between you, three fingers wiggling to get his attention. 
Daryl scoffed and began preparing himself to stand, nonchalantly flipping up his middle finger. “How many m’ I holdin’ up?” 
You sighed with a fond smile, dropping your hand to his arm to help him get to his feet. “Yeah, you’re okay enough to get back to Hershel.” It was a bit of a struggle getting him upright, and he swayed a little before you settled his arm over your shoulders. “I’m driving.” 
“Hell no, ‘ve been through ‘nough today.” His tone was gruff but not angry. 
“And I’d like to make it in one piece. I bet you see two of me right now, don’t you?”
“Wouldn’t be such a bad thing, don’ reckon.” 
You could feel your cheeks burn. You ducked your head when you felt him staring at you and pinched his side playfully. 
“You must’ve really hit your head, Dixon.”
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caleod · 7 months
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15-9-23
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blasteffect · 2 months
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A “Green Monster” Lurks in Star’s Debris
For the first time, astronomers have combined data from NASA’s Chandra X-ray Observatory and James Webb Space Telescope to study the well-known supernova remnant Cassiopeia A (Cas A). This work has helped explain an unusual structure in the debris from the destroyed star called the “Green Monster,” because of its resemblance to the wall in the left field of Fenway Park.
Image Credit: X-ray: NASA/CXC/SAO; Optical: NASA/ESA/STScl; IR: NASA/ESA/CSA/STScl/Milisavljevic et al., NASA/JPL/CalTech; Image Processing: NASA/CXC/SAO/J. Schmidt and K. Arcand
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jasmines-library · 6 months
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No Escape
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WHUMPTOBER 2023 DAY FIVE: prompt: pinned down/debris.
Fandom: The lost boys.
Summary: After a storm leaves the vampires stranded in the cave, things get heated between you. You decide to retreat into the cave, needing some separation from the boys; but the storm has other ideas to take that separation further when part of the cave collapses.
Warnings: blood, gore, being crushed, vampire turning.
Word count: 1.6k
MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS
🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸
The rain hammered loudly against the roof of the cave. It trickled through the cracks trailing downhill before tumbling off the edges, splattering at the entrance and creating its very own curtain of water. The waves thundered against the cliff, a churning wall of white water as the wind howled and the sky grumbled angrily.
The storm had brought the five of you indoors, having left the boardwalk early you were now all milling around the cave. Paul and Marko had resorted to flicking small stones at their dark haired counterpart who was circling the old water fountain on his skateboard. You sat besides them, watching the night sky ignite as lightning pillared down towards the ground.
“I don’t like the sound of this storm.” David huffed out through a puff of his cigarette. He was perched atop of the old wheelchair he treated like a throne.
“It’s the worst I’ve seen in a while.” You agreed.
Santa Carla was always nice during the summer, but you couldn’t say the same for when winter began to roll around.
Marko laughed. “Oh babe, you ain’t seen nothing yet.” He reached around and pushed you playfully on your shoulder. “You would have loved that big one back in ‘39?”
You were still a half. Still half human. And the boys liked to make it known.
“Of course, if you decided to join us now, you would be able to see these things with us.”
“We agreed-“
Paul rolled his eyes and whined. “We know what we agreed babe, but it’s just so much more exciting to have you now.”
“Seriously? Is that all I am to you?”
“Y/N, come on doll that’s not what he meant-“ Marko interrupted.
“Well it’s what he said.”
Dwayne placed a careful hand on your shoulder and gave it a squeeze, steering you back towards the group, but what came out of his mouth wasn’t what you were expecting from him. “Relax a little Y/N. It’s okay to have fun once in a while.
You pushed away from him agape and scoffed, before turning away briskly and venturing down one of the caves' many tunnels to seek refuge away from the boys. You could hear them calling after you, though none of them made any move to chase after you.
“Y/N, come on. We’re sorry-”
You ignored their calls and half arsed attempts at an apology, and stormed further away into the cave, towards your own room.
The boys looked at David, who shrugged nonchalantly. “Her loss.” Before taking another long drag of his cigarette.
~~~
As the night began to draw old, the storm had begun to get worse. The cave groaned loudly as the rain continued its heavy pelt against the cliff. Despite your walkman blaring your favourite mixtape loudly in your ears, you could still hear the raucous of your boys in the main cave.
You didn’t want to be mad at them, not really, but balancing life as a half was hard; and something that they had long forgotten. you were constantly tired having to balance day and night, your joints ached in ways that you never imagined, and worst of all was the hunger that was imminent, always there in the back of your mind like an itch you couldn’t scratch.
You pushed yourself up from your bed and began to make your way back down the winding network of tunnels when thunder ricocheted across the caverns. The whole cave shook.
A sea of small pebbles began to trickle down the walls. Shit. The cave trembled as it began to give way. Your feet slapped against the uneven floor as you tried to weave away from the collapsing roof. There was a loud crackle as one of the old beams began to splinter. You pushed forwards, but your human legs wouldn’t allow you to move fast enough. This began to get worse when you foot caught on a piece of debris, sending you spit king to the floor. And that was when the beam gave way, hurtling stacks of rock towards your helpless body.
~~~
The vampires had drifted into their own activities when they heard it; a fateful crash that echoed around the cave’s walls.
Dwayne’s head perked up from the book he was scanning though, though he hadn’t really been paying much attention to the words that were printed on the page. His mind was too occupied thinking about you. So, naturally your name was the first thing that fell from his lips when he heard the tumbling of the rocks.
He was up in his feet in an instant, racing towards your bedroom. His brothers were hot on his heels. They didn’t have to go far before they smelt it. Sweet and fresh. Blood. Your blood.
“Y/n…” Marko muttered as he stumbled upon the collapse of debris.
All four of their hearts, had they still been beating, would have stopped right there and then.
You were pinned, flat on your back, under a blanket of rubble and parts of the wooden beam which had failed to do its job. The blood they could see was coming from your temple, it dribbled into your hair from where your head hung back, and from your nose. The impact had left you with a nasty set of vertigo too.
David swallowed thickly. He could also smell the blood he couldn’t see. The thin sheen of blood that appeared in the bruises that consumed your body. Blood that crept into your lungs and out of your organs. He could tell that the others could smell it too from their paler than usual complexions.
“Get it off her.” He barked, moving towards the debris.
The four of them made fast work of removing the smaller pieces. Your eyes were closed, but David could hear you struggling for breath; the wheezing in your chest was far from pleasant to listen to.
The larger pieces on top of you were harder to move. Despite their vampiric strength, it was still a task to move and they didn’t want to risk moving anything without knowing the extent of your injuries first. Dwayne, who was the closest thing to a doctor that they had access to (even though that wasn’t very close), had told them that if anything was lodged in your body, it was best to keep it in there to stop you bleeding out .
Paul patted your face, turning your head gently in his hands. “Y/N? Baby. Please wake up. You have to wake up.”
The vampires watched your face, frowning when you. They tried again. Still nothing. That was when David ran a fingernail along the length of his wrist. The scent of his blood had your eyes flickering open within seconds, though as soon as your body regained consciousness, you were hit with a blinding, consuming pain.
“Doll?” The curly haired boy asked.
You could do nothing but whimper in response.
“Baby, I need you to tell us where it hurts the most.”
“Everywhere.” You cried out through gritted teeth. “Please.. make it stop.”
Dwayne felt tears prick his eyes as he moved towards you, stroking your hair. “We will baby, but we can’t help unless you tell us. Please… you have to try.”
“Right thigh.” You grunted out, “stomach…”
He nodded knowingly.
With each of their hands gripped firmly around the edges of the debris, they hauled the piece away. You screamed as the movement shifted your body, and the release of pressure made the pain intensify. Luckily, there seemed to be no puncture wound, though the way that your leg was bent screamed to them that your femur was definitely broken.
Your chest gurgled as your tried to suck in air greedily, but it left you doubled over in a coughing fit. Marko froze at the blood that coaxed your hand when you pulled away. It stained your teeth red and had a coppery taste against your tongue. Whimpering, you eased yourself back down.
Paul stoked your hair gently, whispering tender reassurances into your ear as he looked up uncertainly to the other three who stood watching you shell shocked from various places within the small space.
When your eyes began to feel heavy, there was a pinch against your skin as Marko rushed to your side.
“Don’t you go falling asleep on me babe. The night is still young.”
Had you not been in agony, you would have chucked at his remark. The night was actually in fact, very old, and Marko wished that he could just screw his eyes shut and wake up where all of this was just a dream. Your out of beat heart wouldn’t let him forget that though.
“Y/n?” David asked.
“Hm?” Even the noise you made was laced with pain.
“Please.. let us help you. Turning you will let your heal quicker and-“
David cut himself off, watching you anxiously. You were struggling to breath now; in a pained state, your chest heaved quickly. White spots tickled the edge of your vision as you tried to plaster your eyes open, but the pain was much duller where it was darker. The darkness allowed you to let go of everything, to stop feeling full stop, so you gave in, but not before mumbling out a reply.
~~~
“Do it.” The command was barely a whisper, pushed out across dry lips. But all four of them heard it, nonetheless.
“David?” Paul freaked when your body slumped even more into his lap.
“Go.” He turned to Marko and Dwayne. “Find her something. Anything.”
The listened to your heartbeat slow, listened to the blood pumping around your body being to cease.
“She hasn’t got much time left.”
🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸
<- DAY FOUR ⛤ DAY SIX ->
🏷️ Taglist:
@senjoritanana
@deans-spinster-witch
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mystery-star · 6 months
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Whumptober 2023 - Day 5 | Debris
Master and Commander - The Far Side of the World (2003)
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alittleposhtoad · 6 months
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oh bury me not on the lone prairie (pt 5)
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Taskforce 141 - Cowboy AU - f!reader Wordcount: 1.8k Things to note: no use of y/n, lots of talk about injuries and pain, not edited, whump - although, I have to apologize, this contains more hurt than comfort. a/n: my plan to write a bunch of entries for whumptober, by doing short, 500 word drabbles immediately flew out the window, huh. In any case, the events of this chapter takes place after a bit of a time skip from the last chapter, I do plan to go back and write a thing that fills in the gaps of what happened between holding her at gunpoint, to what happens here.
Series Masterlist | Part 6
The collapse of the mine was inevitable, the greed of the owner drips from his every pore and off every word. An out of towner who lives fancy on the backs of the common folk, folk who finally were driven desperate and brittle under his avarice. His desire for mammon. 
Cut corners, exhausted workers, and high tempers set off a devastating chain of events. You’d been fetched to help fix what could be fixed, and identify and prepare the dead, as far as it was in your power to do so.
Rumours spread through the makeshift camp, about the band of mercenaries being the final straw. Hired by the miners for protection against the owners' goons. There was an attempt to demand better conditions, the owner saw this affront and answered with greater force. Apparently, no cost was too high except the mild inconvenience of meeting the worker’s demands.
The light from your lantern glitters off a strip of metal, a pistol held aloft by a shaking hand. You stop by the foot of a man lying at the edge of the cave in. Soft flickering light illuminates a familiar face. 
“Mr. Price?” It’s a harsh whisper, forced out by shock and ire. 
“Little bird?” He wheezes, pistol falling against his chest after deeming you not a threat. A beam pins his other arm, his jacket sleeve is tattered, and he’s coated in dust and fine debris. A face scraped and bloody and drenched in sweat. You decide to not admonish him for the pet name, not this time. 
“The others…” Your voice catches. If you were being truthful, Mr. MacTavish and Mr. Riley held less of your concern, but Mr. Garrick, sweet, thoughtful Gaz, the thought of him crushed somewhere in the depths forms a lump in your throat.
“They got out.” His voice is hoarse. As much as he tries to hide his pain, it washes off him in waves. 
“Doc, you know this one?” David calls out, clomping up behind you with the others. On instinct you set the lantern down, letting the shadows obscure Mr. Price’s face. 
“In passing.” You gesture down the partially open shaft. “Check if anyone else is trapped.” They hesitate, wavering between staying put and following instructions. You wave them away, and finally he relents. 
“What happened?” You hiss as the others move out of earshot. 
“Fuckin mine shaft dropped on my head, love.”
Your fingers move gently across his scalp and neck, feeling for injuries and abrasions, before swiftly unfastening his vest and shirt. The arm that’s pinned is soaked with blood, and the sight of it stirs up packed down fears. It makes you angry. Hateful. This man means nothing to you, he doesn’t deserve the consideration. 
“Metal spike on the beam. Dug into my arm.” He wheezes.
You sit back on your haunches, considering how to proceed. The way the rock and soil fell, it looked possible to dig out from under his arm. “If I’m careful, I might be able to make room. It will be excruciating.”
He nods hurriedly. 
From your bag, you set out the bundle of bandages you cut hours previous, and next to it, the leather scalpel case. 
“What are you doing?” His voice hitches, and he winces away from the blade, before shuddering against the pain caused by his sudden movement. 
“Calm.” You press your hand to his sternum. “I need to wrap your arm as soon as it comes off the spike, so you don’t bleed to death. Or are you going to fuss about me cutting your jacket?”
He doesn’t answer, but his head lolls back against the rocks in defeat. With a small degree of difficulty, you cut the sleeve of his jacket and shirt. It’s no easy task, for all his rough and rugged wear, his clothes are well made and not easily torn. You ignore his small gasps of pain. After the suffering and headache he’s put you through, this was only fair. 
You hover over him, searching for the best angle to reach the rocks and debris under his arm. There’s a catch in his chest, maybe a laugh, maybe a sigh, but he watches you work with a pained smile. 
“If ever I were to have you on top of me, I imagined something kinder-” 
You clamp your hand over his mouth, incensed by his boldness. With a burning face and prickly back you shush him. “I’ll ignore your rudeness because of your state, but don’t you dare say such a thing again. Don’t you think it.”
He nods, but the smile remains. “More than fair.” Despite his expression, his words are solemn. “Forgive a poor sinner.”
You ignore the tug of your heart, the shameful need to be desired. It…it was a betrayal.
“Quiet. You’re delirious.” You say with a face on fire.
You carefully carve a couple inches out from under his arm, leaving your hands stained with damp soil, debris embedded under your nails. You’re wondering if that might be enough, when the area brightens, a new lantern held aloft over the space. A man snorts and crouches down next to you.
“You said you only know this fella in passing, Doc?” There’s a smirk to the voice.
“Don’t be a child, David.” You presume he’s commenting on the rather compromising position you’ve put yourself in to reach his other arm.
Over his shoulder he calls, “Found him! Sonuva bitch got pinned!” To you, “Doc, d’you not see this fool’s face all over them bounty posters? He's behind it all.”
You freeze, and Mr. Price tenses underneath you.
“What’s your meaning?”
"Miners hired him and his merry band for protection." An unfamiliar voice answers. It was less an accusation, more an inference. 
Fear ticks up, and with it, impatience. "The way I hear, the owner shares heavily in the blame-"
Hands twist through your hair and you're yanked back, forcibly ripped from your patient. One desperate grapple, and you quickly stash the scalpel case in your skirt pocket. Grabbed tight, you presume, by one of the mine owner's goons. A problem with these out-of-town thugs, is what little influence you held in this small corner of the world did not matter much to them. 
“Let me go.” Fear, that old gnawing beast, it changes your voice. You’re high and shrill, and the men bark with cruel laughter. You tear and pull at the fingers tangling your hair. 
Guns are out in record time. Mr. Price has re-armed himself. A pistol in a shaky hand. 
For a hateful moment, you despise him. He somehow found you in your worst moments and rolled over them with his violent schemes. And when he was gone, thoughts of him crowded in on your grief and your idle moments. How desperate and uncouth it was for your heart to pay him any mind. 
“Am I doing something wrong?” You decide to play the fool; for many a man, it was not a hard act to sell them, they wanted to believe it. “He’s hurt, ain’t he?”
A sharp laugh. “We’ll let the mine finish its job. No more than he deserves.”
“Shouldn’t he be questioned? Is there not a reward?” As you speak, you reach for the scalpels.
“Only reason to question him has been found.” The man flips you around to stare at you, holding your jaw tight between his meaty fingers. “Why’re you so interested in keeping him alive?”
Barely formed ideas fill your head and you scramble wildly for the answer he wants to hear, for whatever arrangement of words lets you leave unscathed. “I - I’m the doctor.” The words squeeze through clenched teeth, his fingers locking your jaw in place. 
Of all the odd things to spring into your mind this moment, it is your feral barn cat, lashing out if a hand goes near him. Fearfully cutting ribbons into the skin of anyone trying to hold him close. A wild panic takes hold, and you follow suit. Anything to be free, regardless of the cost. You slash his arm. Nothing deep, a practiced cut, just enough for him to loosen his grip. Enraged, he grabs your hand, and the scalpel slips, cutting deep into the thick flesh of his palm. 
Sheets of blood pour from it and he’s dumbfounded, staring like he can’t fathom what happened. The switch is quick and frightening as he chokes on fury and pain. “BITCH.” He seethes. With one swift move you’re thrown to the ground. 
“I’m gonna make sure the mine takes both o’you fuckers.”
“Well, wait a sec-” David mutters. “She’s-”
His intervention is too late, as a heavy booted foot crushes down on your leg, you feel the bend, hear the grind, and a pain so severe it trips you over into oblivion. 
Mr. Price finally steadies his hand. “You better pray I don’t get up.” The words are a violent promise, and they’re the last thing you hear before all goes dark.
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“Bird. Birdy.” You hear the words first, and the breath-stealing pain arrives after. A fracture, it has to be. A sob snares in your throat. Calloused fingers slide away from your pulse. His heavy sigh washes warm air over you.
With each blink, you try to make sense of why he sways, why he’s barely able to hold himself upright. Your mind’s muddled, it’s a struggle to remember how you arrived in this predicament. John Price hovers, eyes glazed over. Blood puddles over a torn jacket sleeve. Memories trickle in bit by bit, like drops of water, the context still held behind a flimsy dam. 
He’s no longer pinned. Two dead bodies lay at your feet. The smell of black powder fills your nose.
“Your arm–.”
“You made enough of a gap to get free.” He grunts.
You nod, unable to provide helpful commentary. Though your mind’s a fog, you try to focus. There’s a routine to follow, always a routine. Fix what you can. See that the worst is treated first. A never-ending cycle of stitching together the broken pieces.
Pain just about collapses your will to drag yourself next to him. But you adjust and manage your progress at a snail's pace.
“Your leg?” His voice hitches.
“It’s broken.” You grumble in return. The predicament might be amusing if the both of you weren’t wracked in pain. You spare a moment of rest before getting to work.
Other than sharp inhales, he remains silent as you pack and bandage the wound. The men that scattered after you swooned appear to have mercifully left your bag. Small miracles. You grab a flask and shove it into his hand. 
“Water. Drink up.” He grasps it with a weak hand and raises it to greedy lips. Water dribbles down his beard, dotting the top of his grimy cotton shirt. 
“We’re both broken.” He mutters after drinking his fill. Your chest tightens with the accusation, with the implication there was anything tying you close. Before you can offer any such rejoinder, a swell of deep, aching pain forces you to the brink. You cry out, it can’t be helped. 
“I hate you.” It starts as a whisper. Louder, “I hate you. You break everything.” 
He slides his uninjured arm around your back, pulling you into his shivering side. You let him.
“And yet.” He hums. “Here you are.”
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taglist: @deadbranch @50cal-fullauto @lunarvicar @thriving-n-jiving @kocicko @meowtavish @miraclesabound
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skyward-floored · 6 months
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Whumptober Day 5: Debris, Pinned down
Wind and Four <3 ...and some unplanned characters. This changed a bit from that one wip I posted!
Warnings: the title stuff, broken bones, and a teeny mention of blood.
Read it on ao3
————————————————————
“Anybody over here?!” Four shouted, squinting through the smoke and dust blowing through the air.
Nobody answered him, and Four kept walking through the huge piles of rubble, the tight knot of worry in his chest only growing.
The Links had been hunting down a group of monsters who’d reportedly been stealing and stockpiling bombs, for what, nobody knew. They’d traced them to an old patch of ruins, and engaged, taking out a large chunk of the group without much difficulty. But when the monsters realized they were rapidly being exterminated, they’d decided blowing them all up was the best way to stop them.
That had led to a mad dash to get out of the ruins as they’d exploded around them, but the Links had been separated while escaping, and hadn’t realized until the dust had settled.
They’d quickly split up to look for their missing members, and Four had been poking through these particular ruins for what felt like forever. His worry was growing with every minute that passed where he didn’t find anyone, and he looked nervously at a few larger piles of debris. He’d gone by several really large piles, so big that if anyone was under them he would have no idea they were there, and he’d debated trying to move them more then once.
But what good would it do? If anyone is under them, there’s no way they’d even be...
Four’s eyes suddenly caught on a distant scrap of color, and his heart jumped at the familiar shade of blue. He bolted to it, nearly tripping in the debris field between, and bent down to pick up the torn patch of cloth.
It smelled faintly of the ocean.
“Sailor?!” Four called, but heard no reply, and he continued to search around a particularly large pile of debris, listening intently for any sign of life.
He continued to call the sailor’s name, using both Wind and Link, but he had no luck until he turned a corner into a more closed-off area.
And saw a shock of blonde hair, coated in dust that shone in the sunlight.
“Wind,” Four breathed, and bolted to his side, trying not to panic at the huge pile of rocks the sailor was under. He reached down to put a hand on his only visible arm, and gave it a light shake. “Wind, can you hear me?”
A groan came from Wind, and his eyelids slowly flickered open, face twisted in pain. His expression was twisted in confusion as he looked around, and his one free hand clenched at the dirt as he obviously tried to move without thinking. Then his face went white as he bit back a cry, and Four felt his worry triple.
“Sailor, easy, stay still,” Four soothed, heart in his throat, and Wind looked blearily up at him.
“...Smithy?” the sailor whispered, letting out a cough. “Is that... you?”
“Yeah, yeah it’s me,” Four replied, looking again at the large rocks covering most of Wind’s body. “Are you okay? How... how badly are you hurt?”
Wind was silent a long time, and looked to be thinking rather hard about the question.
“...I can’t move my legs,” he said quietly, voice taut with pain and barely-hidden fear. “A-at all. They’re stuck under everything, and... my arm is pretty busted up too.”
“Is there any part of you not incapacitated?” Four tried to tease, and Wind let out a laugh, though it broke into a pained cough a moment later.
“This arm, I guess,” he said tiredly, and Four swallowed, and began to feel around the stones, trying to figure out which ones, if any, were loose. But everything seemed solid and stuck, and Four looked helplessly at the rubble. There was no way he was strong enough to move any of it.
Then he squared his shoulders, and began pulling at the rocks that seemed the least load-bearing. Wind wasn’t going to get free if he just sat here, and hopefully his power bracelets would be enough to unpin him.
Wind stayed mostly silent as Four worked, sometimes letting out a quiet cough. At some point he began to hum, a quiet, rolling tune, and Four could tell it was to distract himself from the pain by the way it occasionally hitched. He hummed along once he figured it out, and tried not to despair at the absolutely tiny pile of rocks he’d managed to move.
He wasn’t making any progress.
“...Smithy?”
Four looked over at Wind, who had paused in his humming, and for some reason seemed paler then before. “Yeah, Wind?”
“I... I don’t think you can get me out by yourself,” he whispered, and Four shook his head and went back to scrabbling at the tiny, looser rocks. “You’re gonna, ha-ave to find someone… else to help.”
“I’m not going to leave you here,” Four replied sharply. He wouldn’t even entertain the possibility. Leaving Wind to go get help might have been what his logical side was telling him to do, but his emotions were horrified he was even considering it.
What if I leave, and I’m too late, and he’s all alone when he...
Four felt a touch on his leg, and looked over to see Wind giving him a pleading look, his single uncovered arm clutching at him.
“Four. I’ll be okay until you get back,” he said, a faint smile on his lips. “You gotta…”
He coughed again, and Four reluctantly paused in his digging, crouching down and taking Wind’s hand in his.
“Look, Wind, I don’t… I don’t know how much longer you have,” Four admitted quietly, and Wind let out a thick chuckle.
“Long enough for y-you to get help,” Wind promised, a drop of blood falling from his lip. He met Four’s eyes, and the Smithy was struck by how much trust he saw in them. I’ll be… okay, Four. Sailors’re tough. Go.”
Four leaned back on his heels, and looked at Wind again, studying the dust in his hair, the pained twist to his expression. Wind actually resembled himself quite a bit he realized, their hair nearly the same color, faces a similar shape. Their noses were even remarkably close, and as Four looked into his eyes, he suddenly felt like an idiot.
“Oh sweet Nayru, why on earth did I not think of this sooner,” he gasped, and quickly reached around to grab for his sword. “I have a solution Wind, I might not have to get anyone else after all.”
“...how?” the sailor asked in confusion, and Four held up his sword.
“Watch.”
Rainbow light shone brightly from the blade, and Four saw Wind squint against it as he split apart, the dust in his hair lighting up with bright colors. It quickly faded, and Vio dropped next to Wind, immediately setting in on studying the situation.
Red sat next to him, nervously holding Wind’s hand, and Green and Blue waited, one more patient then the other, for Vio to finish thinking.
Wind stared between all of them, blinking like he couldn’t believe his eyes, but his shocked faded soon enough, replaced by a look of dawning understanding.
“Oh. Four. I get it...” he snickered to himself, then his breath caught on a laugh and he winced.
Red squeezed his hand again, and Wind shakily squeezed back.
“Okay. I believe we can do it,” Vio said finally, standing up. “If two of us wear the bracelets, and are helped by a third, we can lift the rocks while whoever is left pulls Wind out. I think we have just enough strength between us.”
“Well then let’s go!” Blue said, cracking his knuckles. “Red’s gonna be the one to pull him out, right? Makes sense for him to do the easy job, he’s noodle-armed.”
“I am not noodle-armed!” Red cried, and Wind let out a faint giggle.
“You’re strong in other ways Red,” Green said patiently. “And actually, I was going to suggest Blue pull him out.”
“What? Why?!”
“Because you can easily pull him out while the rest of us move the rocks, and if you end up needing to be quick, you’ll do it even if it’ll hurt him,” Green said, meeting his eyes. “Now let’s go, Wind’s not getting any better.”
Blue grumbled, but agreed, and Vio and Green each put on a power bracelet. Red stood next to them while Blue crouched beside Wind, and the three of them began pulling the largest rock upward.
Wind’s breathing got shakier as they pushed, the rock shifting slightly. Small pebbles bounced, and dust billowed up into the shaft of sunlight as they lifted, slowly, carefully, straining as they pulled the huge stones.
Blue stayed as close as he could to Wind, waiting for the space to widen enough to pull him out. The sailor’s eyes were squeezed shut, lips trembling as they pulled, and Blue shifted uncomfortably as he saw a tear fall down his cheek.
See? Red would have been better, he grumbled to himself.
“Get ready Blue!” Green grunted, sweat beading on his forehead, and he, Red, and Vio all gave a concentrated push, lifting the stones up just enough to create a space above Wind.
Blue moved quickly, grabbing Wind under the armpits and pulling him out without jostling him too much. It didn’t seem to matter though, since Wind cried out the moment he tugged him, but Blue ignored the noise, and kept pulling until the sailor was all the way free and a good distance away from the rocks.
“He’s clear!” he shouted, and the other three parts of himself attempted to put the rocks down as slowly as possible, so nothing would collapse on top of them all. Something grabbed at Blue’s hand, and he realized Wind was clutching at it, breathing heavily as tears trickled down his face.
Blue looked away, and squeezed back.
The others dropped to Wind’s side a few moments later, and Green immediately began fishing in his pouch for something. Red’s face was pale, and Vio remained silent, studying the sailor as he breathed shakily.
His other arm was definitely broken, that much was obvious. Something seemed a little off about the way his lower chest looked, and his legs remained limp, Vio swallowing as he looked at them. He wasn’t sure if the others realized exactly what was wrong, but he wasn’t planning on telling them unless it was absolutely necessary.
“Here,” Green said, and pulled a fairy from his pouch. “This... this should do it.”
I hope.
Vio nodded, and Green opened the bottle, the glow of the released fairy making the tear tracks on Wind’s face glitter. The little creature made a beeline for Wind the moment she saw him, and chimed in distress, then swirled around him in tight circles, concentrating near his legs and spine like Vio had suspected.
Wind exhaled heavily as she finished, and the fairy chimed again, bobbing gently by his cheek, then flitted away into the sunlight.
“Wind. Can you move your legs?” Vio asked, and Wind scrunched his face up in concentration.
He managed to lift them both a little ways, and all of them sighed in relief.
The fairy had done her job.
“Think she didn’t get my arm all the way though,” Wind said with a wince, but he was noticeably less pale then he had been, and was already trying to sit up. “Guess she had to focus on my legs.”
“That would make sense,” Green said with a smile, and helped him sit up. Wind clung to him a little tightly as he assisted him, trembling slightly, and after he was upright, Red leaned over and hugged him.
Wind let out a shaky breath, his eyes glittering, and the others drew near and hugged him as well, even Blue and Vio.
“Thanks,” the sailor said into Red’s shoulder, voice smaller then normal. “Thank you Four, th-that...”
“Of course, sailor,” Green replied gently.
Wind swallowed, and didn’t say anything further.
They stayed there and hugged him for a long time, Red’s shoulder damp where Wind’s face was pressed to it. None of them really wanted to move, shaken and trembly after everything, but eventually Wind pulled back and wiped his face, and the colors helped him stand.
They looked at Wind, then around at each other, and wordlessly grabbed their swords, fusing back into one. Wind watched in surprise, but only asked a few questions before going quiet again, his normal exuberance obviously dampened by pain and leftover fear.
Four put an arm around Wind to support him while they walked, and they set off to rejoin the others, the sailor humming the same rolling tune as earlier.
Four joined in, and the debris around them quietly echoed the song.
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sugas6thtooth · 4 months
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whumpslist · 6 months
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Whumptober 2023 no.5 'Debris | Pinned Down'
La Brea episode 2.13 "Fool's Gold"
Levi (Nicholas Gonzales) is wounded and pinned down under the debris.
@whumptober @whumptober-archive
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keepingitneutral · 1 year
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“Upcycled Collectives”
The project proposes an alternative architecture where construction debris up-cycling and mirco-climate systems work together to achieve architectural resilience in extreme weather conditions. 
This approach argues for a "more is more" ethos; the accumulation of discrete leftover or refused material for its own sake. Reducing waste in landfills, local job sites and advocating for a radical change in our current waste and material supply chains while empowering local communities.
Erick Vernon-Galindo / Arch Hive
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fainfrumos · 11 months
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Yellow bandages, Bruxelles [11.05.23]
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mbari-blog · 1 year
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The most terrifying thing in the deep sea. 😱⁠⁠
The human imprint of pollution is now evident in all marine ecosystems, including the deepest parts of our ocean. The impacts of deep-sea trash are magnified by the near-freezing water, lack of sunlight, and low oxygen concentrations that discourage the growth of bacteria and other organisms that can break down debris. Under these conditions, our garbage might persist for decades.
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gingeredmink · 14 days
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world needs more Tats art so here's them being eepy in Sou's shirt
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disease · 4 months
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KEELEY FORSYTH | DEBRIS | 2020
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