Guys this completely changed my writing, heed it. I often do an entire draft just looking at sentence variation and oftentimes the results are absolutely transformative in the difference.
So, pretty frequently writers screw up when they write about injuries. People are clonked over the head, pass out for hours, and wake up with just a headache⌠Eragon breaks his wrist and itâs just fine within days⌠Wounds heal with nary a scar, everâŚ
Iâm aiming to fix that.
Here are over 100 links covering just about every facet of traumatic injuries (physical, psychological, long-term), focusing mainly on burns, concussions, fractures, and lacerations. Now you can beat up your characters properly!
Wound assessment: A huge amount of information, including what the color of the flesh indicates, different kinds of things that ooze from a wound, and so much more.
Location pain chart: Originally intended for tattoo pain, but pretty accurate for cuts
General note: Deeper=more serious. Elevate wounded limb so that gravity draws blood towards heart. Scalp wounds also bleed a lot but tend to be superficial. If itâs dirty, risk infection. If it hits the digestive system and you donât die immediately, infectionâll probably kill you. Donât forget the possibility of tetanus! If a wound is positioned such that movement would cause the wound to gape open (i.e. horizontally across the knee) itâs harder to keep it closed and may take longer for it to heal.
General notes: If itâs a compound fracture (bone poking through) good luck fixing it on your own. If the bone is in multiple pieces, surgery is necessary to fix itâprobably canât reduce (âsetâ) it from the outside. Older people heal more slowly. Itâs possible for bones to âhealâ crooked and cause long-term problems and joint pain. Consider damage to nearby nerves, muscle, and blood vessels.
General notes: If you pass out, even for a few seconds, itâs serious. If you have multiple concussions over a lifetime, they will be progressively more serious. Symptoms can linger for a long time.
Dislocations: Symptoms 1, 2; treatment. General notes: Repeated dislocations of same joint may lead to permanent tissue damage and may cause or be symptomatic of weakened ligaments. Docs recommend against trying to reduce (put back) dislocated joint on your own, though information about how to do it is easily found online.
Warnings: Language! And smut. But a tame smut. A fluffy smut, if you will. Still, 18+, please.
Summary: Steve returns home from a week long mission.
A/N: Blame the IW trailers. Blame the new stealth suit. Blame Steve Rogers in general. This could be considered a sequel to my earlier one-shot, Stubborn Love. If you like my writing, Iâd like to take requests. Primarily Steve or Bucky, but Iâd consider others.
Eight days.
Try as you might to focus on anything other than the amount of time youâd gone without word from Steve Rogers, the number kept forcing itself into your brain.
Eight days since youâd kissed him goodbye.
Eight days since youâd heard his voice.
Eight days since youâd said I love you.
Youâd been through long periods apart before, that was nothing new. Still, it was never something youâd get used to.
Word Count: 6,500 (Yikes, sorry. I had a lot to say)
A/N: This fic was created for @star-spangled-man-with-a-planâs Angsty Marvel challenge. And because Steve Rogers is beautiful. My prompt was âYou canât live your life based on âwhat-ifsâ.
âIâve lapped you three times. Pick up your pace.â
Feet slap pavement as a broad shadow overtakes you, momentarily blocking the warmth from the evening sun on your back.
You grit your teeth as Steve slows beside you to match your speed, his stride effortless and unlabored. His words arenât a chide. There is no arrogance behind them. They are clinical. Matter of fact. Commanding.
The Iron Bull is not easily intimidated. But staring down all three advisers this way is damn unnerving. Especially when one of them may or may not have a soft spot for the boss.
To her credit, Josephine only looks mildly concerned with a hint of disappointment underneath. Leliana’s face is blank, which could mean any number of things. Cullen is glaring daggers at him. If the commander were able to shapeshift, Bull might expect a dragon to breathe fire at him any moment now.
“Is there any particular reason you’ve brought the Inquisitor back with a head wound?” Leliana asks.
Varric is looking entirely too smug about all of this as he lurks silently in the back of the room. Bull vows to make sure he has no access to the good ale at the tavern in the coming days. Except that won’t work. The dwarf is used to Kirkwallâs piss. And Dorian got to sneak off to the healersâ with Sidni as âhelp.â
Heâs on his own.
They all wait for an answer from him. When he and Sidni had first agreed to this between themselves, they had known no one would approve. It was only a matter of time until someone found out. Of course, they also knew that the advisers finding out would come as a result of injury. And since she’s currently out of commission, it’s up to Bull to confess. No one is going to like his explanation
âI threw her a little harder than I needed to.â
Cullen blinks. Lelianaâs bows raise ever so slightly. But itâs Josephine who tilts her head and asks politely, âIâm sorry, did you say you threw the Inquisitor?â
âThatâs right.â
Varric finally speaks up. âShe missed the mage and hit a tree.â
Cullen definitely looks like heâs about to breathe fire.
âYou used the Inquisitor – a living being – as a projectile?â Cullen asks.
âIt was her idea.â
âOf course it was.â
The exasperation in the manâs voice is more fond than Bull would expect. He eyes Cullen, wondering when that happened.
âWhile I applaud your creativity,â Leliana cuts in, âperhaps it would be better to refrain from launching the Inquisitor at our enemies. Sheâs in enough danger consistently as it is.â
Bull decides not to tell them how many times tossing Sidni at their enemies has turned a battle in their favor, nor how much she seems to enjoy it. He simply nods his head and turns to leave.
âSure thing, Red. Iâll let you be the one to tell her.â
Varric chuckles behind him and mutters, âNow that I have got to see.â
Flynn stares at himself in the mirror, smoothing the blue sash and crimson coat for the hundredth time. He looks ridiculous. He was never meant to be the son who did these sorts of things. And now here he is, about to meet with – ridiculous – royalty and try to charm the Orlesian court. As well as unravel an assassination plot.
Nothing too difficult.
âNow thereâs a sight I can enjoy all night.â
Dorian is standing in the doorway, dressed similarly. Although he wears the uniform better than Flynn ever could. Their eyes meet in the glass and he sees Dorianâs smile dim. He steps into the room, shutting the door behind him.
âYouâre worried.â
So much for successfully hiding his feelings. âA little,â he admits.
Dorian pulls him away from the mirror. He runs his hands along Flynnâs shoulders, lifting onto his toes slightly to give him a quick kiss.
âYouâre the Inquisitor! You cannot fail. Even if you cause a scandal amongst the court, youâd still be a success.â
The corner of Flynnâs lips quirk.
âAt least in my eyes,â Dorian adds.
Flynnâs breath escapes in a startled laugh. He pulls Dorian in for another kiss, brushing his thumb along the back of the mageâs neck before letting go.
âThank you,â he breathes.
Dorian takes his arm, leading him out into the hallway.
âCome. Political intrigue and backstabbing nobles? This will be fun!â
âYour idea of fun is worrying.â
âMy idea of fun is exemplary. I happen to know you enjoy it.â
Loki still didnât understand Midgardian holidays.
One of them was dedicated to worshiping hearts and flowers. Another date was set aside for deliberately losing- and
finding
badly decorated boiled eggs and paying homage to a giant rabbit. Then there was Halloween- the holiday where everyone dressed in strange clothing and invaded othersâ dwellings to beg for sweets.
That was where Loki found himself- wandering the streets of New York on Halloween night.
A/N: The sequel/conclusion to Going Up.  I wasnât planning on writing it, but people asked and once I realized what the title had to be, I couldnât stop.  Itâs almost twice as long, with more sexy bits.  The last third ended up gentler than I planned with Loki more as a sensual, generous lover, so um⌠yeah. Â
As it turned out, I didnât call Loki that night. Â Or the next. Â I went home and told myself that I would call him after a shower. Â Then I thought maybe I should have dinner first. Â By the time I was done cooking and eating and cleaning up, I had convinced myself that it was too late in the evening to call him and that I should wait until tomorrow. Â What if he went to bed early? Â I didnât want to wake him up.
I knew these were pathetic excuses.  I wanted to call him.  But I just couldnât get up the nerve.  What was I going to say?  "Hi, remember me, Iâm the girl you shagged in an elevator?â  I blushed just thinking about it.  It had been incredible. I certainly didnât regret it.  But was going back for more a good idea?  Was it better just to leave it as a fling, a little fun in an elevator, something special?
Maker's Breath 
