#disaster zone
disaster zone | trauma | prisoner
31st entry for @whumptober2021
Read it on ao3
Title: It’s always darkest before the dawn
Pairing: Lan Xichen/Jiang Cheng
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Choose not to warn
Excerpt:
The rain is still pelting down, harsh winds pressing it against the window shutters and concerned Lán Huàn looks at them. It’s been raining for a few days, not atypical for the season but the amount is troubling. Yesterday, word came back from Cǎiyī Zhèn that the lake has started to swell up but that for the moment the protective arrays have been holding the water at bay.
He looks down at the letters on his desk, searching for the familiar seal of the Yúnmèng Jiāng Sect. He cannot find it. It might have an obvious explanation, such as the messengers not getting through because of the rain. In his heart, he fears it’s for a different reason.
Words: 3.690
Whumptober Day 31
“You don’t normally get earthquakes here, right?” Demetra asks.
“Not normally, why?” Chaia asks.
“Your table is vibrating,” Demetra calmly responds. The table’s hum suddenly turns to a jostle. “Everyone get under the table,” she commands. “This may not be an earthquake, but we are going to act like it is one.”
———–
Samson is the first one to crawl out from under the table when the shaking stops. He surveys the damage. In Juliet and Anna’s apartment, only some glass shattered and a couple pieces of furniture moved. “Demetra, you were right to get under the table. Others might not have been so lucky.” Samson briefly pauses to think. “Maria, do you have a blood pressure cuff and pulse oximeter on you?”
“Yeah,” she responds, “Chaia always puts one in my bag now.”
“You can never be too prepared,” Chaia says.
“Great. You two go knock on doors and see if anyone needs help. Juliet and Victor, start triaging people. For now, just go with first aid vs see a medical professional.”
“Got it, babe.” Victor glances up at Samson as he is dragged out from under the table by Juliet.
“Okay,” Samson continues. “Anna and Kai, you are with me treating people who need medical attention. Grab the stuff from Maria’s bag to help.”
“I have a med kit in my room,” Anna offers.
“Great. Go get it.” Samson crouches down to once again be level with the underside of the table. He locks eyes with Omar. “Demetra, can I see your hand?”
Demetra is curled up in a ball on Omar’s chest. Her right hand is red with blood.
“I know you cut it on a fallen plate,” Samson continues. He grabs a napkin off the table. “I don’t think it’s a big deal. Just a couple of stitches at the hospital. I want to make sure that it’s nothing more, and then I’ll put some pressure on it.” He lightly grasps Demetra’s hand and pulls it towards his chest. He quickly scans her palm, confirming that it was only a minor laceration. He ties the napkin around her hand.
Victor bursts through the door to the apartment. “Samson, we need you out here!”
Whumptober 2021
No. 31 - HURT & COMFORT
disaster zone | trauma | prisoner
⚠️ Read the tags for warnings ⚠️
——————————————————
Olkarion sent out a distress signal a few hours ago, the paladins have been there trying to defeat the galra fleets surrounding the towns. After a long hard battle the paladins where able to defeat all the galra fleets and start moving the rubble. Or so they thought..!
Keith and hunk took one part of the town while the other paladins split up to the other towns on Olkarion. Keith spotted the remaining two galra ships first and warned hunk of their presence. Both Keith and hunk headed back towards their lions but they where under heavy fire. They took shelter in a near by building which turned out to be a bad idea.
The two galra ships shot at the building causing it to collapse on top of them trapping them underneath all the rubble. Luckily hunk was wearing his helmet, Keith on the other hand had lost his in the previous battle.
There was a small gap in the rubble just big enough that hunk could see Keith on the other side of it. Keith’s head was pouring with blood and tears where falling from his eyes. Hunk had never seen Keith scared before but he didn’t need to not to be able to tell he was terrified right now.
Hunk-Keith can you hear me ?
Keith- Y… yeah
Hunk- Are you ok , how badly are you hurt ?
Keith- Would now be a good time to mention I hate small spaces ? And I think I cracked my head open …
Hunk-Seriously dude , small spaces are you kidding !?
Hunk did his best to reassure Keith that everything was ok but honestly it wasn’t … his helmet was busted and he couldn’t get through to the paladins. Keith was loosing blood fast and loosing consciousness even faster. Finally after a few more unsuccessful attempts hunk managed to get through to the paladins and let them know what happened. Hunk had only taken his eyes of Keith for no more that a minute but his eyes where closed now.
Hunk-Keith buddy you still with me ?
Keith-Y.. y … yeah
Hunk- Ok hang in there buddy the others are on their way. Keep talking to me ok?
Keith was reluctant he was exhausted and his head was pounding. He would be lying though if he said hunks voice wasn’t calming his nerves and soothing that banging in his head. Keith would never admit it but he was terrified… but something about knowing hunk was right there with him, that he wasn’t alone was oddly comforting….
[ Word count - 423]
To Live For
Fandom: The Witcher (Witcher 3: Wild Hunt)
Whumptober 2021 Prompt: no.31
Rated G
To Live For - Indigo_warlock - Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]
Whumptober 2021: Day 31
HURT & COMFORT
disaster zone | trauma | prisoner
Summary:Spotty and the rest of the resistance fighters have been captured and placed in individual prison cells. On a cold, lonely night in her cell, she tries hard to cope and hope for the best.
Link to the Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34210837/chapters/86760406
Title: Shot - Lois
Prompt: No. 31 ‘Hurt & Comfort’ - disaster zone, trauma, prisoner
Trigger Warnings: blood, war, gunshots
Word Count: 3193
Author’s Note: hoooooohohoho lads, this is going to be a fun one. It was the most research-intensive out of all of these one shots and I’m pretty proud of it. Please enjoy, and have a wonderful end to your whumptober! (This fic is based on that one part in MoS where Lois arrives on Ellesmere and meets Jed Eubanks, who mentions that he’s read some of her articles from when she was embedded in the 1stD. Lois replies with a light joke about getting writer’s block if she’s not wearing a flak jacket)
Lois didn’t hesitate.
Chief often quoted it as one of her strong points - Lois was always ready to jump the moment she smelled a story in the making, and that lack of hesitation had earned her more than a few recognizable awards in her field of journalism. Then again, Chief often quoted it as one of her weaknesses - Lois had a tendency to throw herself head-first into the insanity without actually thinking about the consequences, and while that usually won her the first page, it also won her front-row tickets to more than a few dangerous situations. Lois was starting to think that this was one of them.
The Planet had wanted a war correspondent in Afghanistan to cover the rising tensions and military progress over there - and Lois Lane, being the stubborn eldest daughter of the illustrious General Lane and a damn good journalist to boot, was the perfect candidate. Not being one for hesitation, Lois agreed immediately.
Within a month, her papers were in order, her kit and camera packed, the oath sworn, and tickets purchased. Things picked up pretty quickly from there, and two weeks later she was in the thick of it - embedded with a company of US First Division troops in a classified location somewhere south of Kabul, Afghanistan with the mission of ensuring village stability in the region. Lois fell into the routine like she’d been doing it her entire life, probably because she had.
Having grown up an army brat, she was plenty familiar with the inner workings of military life. Most of her childhood homes (and there were quite a few of those) had been very close and sometimes even on various US Army bases where her dad was stationed. Following training units around had been a favorite pastime and combat kit was weekend attire - of course Lois would take to wearing a flak jacket like it was a second skin.
Every morning embedded in a military unit was pretty much the same: get up before the sun had even considered it, put your kit on (not forgetting the bulletproof vest, helmet, backpack, water-carrier, camera case, and extra notebook and pens, of course), get some breakfast into you, locate the liaison to find out where Lois was and wasn’t allowed that day, then climb into one of the trucks for a bumpy, three-hour drive out to the nearest Afghan village.
Most, if not all, of the roads in that area were nearly unusable - asphalt would be riddled with potholes, and dirt tracks littered with craters from previously-detonated IEDs (that’s where the usefulness of military all-terrain vehicles came in). The entire region seemed to be made up of nothing but mountains, dirt, dust, and shrubs - somehow it seemed to Lois to be simultaneously both the coldest and hottest place on Earth, not to mention the dustiest and hardest to drive on. Still, the company typically made good time and arrived at whatever small town they were assigned to before noon to spend the rest of the day ‘ensuring village stability’ as the company’s captain aptly put it - it would become a phrase that Lois heard quite a lot during her embedding.
Such ‘stability’ could be ‘ensured’ in a lot of ways. The primary one was communicating with village leaders about the whereabouts of possible insurgents and finding out where outside assistance may be needed in day-to-day operations of the small town. This typically involved transporting water, screening the residents for diseases that the medic could treat, helping repair buildings or transportation, and generally providing the people with medicines and learning material. Whatever it was, Lois was sure to not be far behind, pen and notebook at the ready to take notes and often help where she could - there was, of course, a major language barrier to be overcome, but Lois had a knack for making herself understood wherever she went.
The primary subject of her articles submitted back to the Planet every Thursday was not the usual progression of US Forces advancements as nearly every other news provider was covering, but focused more on the background, unseen attempts to gain ground. The First Division that Lois was with didn’t see much action during her time with them, focusing instead on securing the alliance of the local Afghani people against the insurgents. This was done under the guise of what most outsiders saw as a humanitarian effort: what else would one call efforts to stabilize a village and protect the future of its people - except, Lois noted, an attempt to gain their support. It was, admittedly, more than a little underhanded… but at least it was working. None of what the Division was doing could be considered dangerous either to themselves or the people they were helping, and they weren’t (purposefully) drawing attention to themselves, so what could possibly be wrong with it?
There was nothing legally wrong with it - but then again, nothing in a warzone tended to be legal. Nothing in a warzone tended to be predictable either. They should have known that there would be some sort of retaliation against the Division’s efforts. In fact, they had known - they had just expected it to come in a form a bit more blatant than a covert ambush.
The company was about an hour into the three-hour drive back to base camp after a long day of digging irrigation wells for a nearby village whose usual source of water had dried up with the summer heat. Lois was thoroughly hot, tired, and covered in dust but she still took advantage of the precious free time to dutifully jot down her notes and observations into the notebook she kept on her person wherever she went. The rough jostling of the military transport made her handwriting even more illegible than usual, though Lois quickly realized that that might be the least of her worries when she heard a gunshot ring out farther down the caravan of army trucks.
Gunshots weren’t all that unusual in the presence of a military company - it was a normal, everyday sound to the point where Lois hardly looked up at the noise anymore. Sometimes she could even recognize what sort of armament had made the shot based on the sound, and right now she could definitely tell that whatever gun had just gone off in no way belonged to any soldier in her company - US servicemen typically didn’t carry high-caliber heavy machine guns in non-combat zones.
Lois didn’t hesitate.
She shoved her notebook and pen into the satchel at her side and tightened her helmet beneath her chin in the same moment that the soldiers in her truck reacted to the ambush. While Lois prepared to escape (being a non-combatant war correspondent and all), the servicemen prepared to counteract the threat, most of them re-checking their weapons and gear while another shouted into a radio communicator, requesting a visual on the perpetrator. They didn’t need one - a moment later the air was full of bullets as Afghani insurgents appeared on either side of the narrow dirt road, firing at the military caravan.
The small team of soldiers who had been riding with her were on guard in an instant, jumping out of the truck with their weapons raised to defend the company. More servicemen from other vehicles joined them, immediately moving towards the closest group of insurgents with the intention of disarming them, though oddly enough the revolutionaries seemed to ignore the very clear threat the US soldiers presented. That was the moment when Lois realized something terrible: the ambushers weren’t targeting the soldiers - they were targeting the trucks. Half-a-dozen well-aimed bullets could take out the lead vehicles’ tires and drivers, effectively trapping the rest of the company on the narrow dirt road, and killing the rest of the servicemen would be like shooting fish in a barrel.
Her driver must have come to the same conclusion, and the truck lurched forward as he put the vehicle into high gear in an attempt to get away from the scene. Lois thought for the briefest moment that he was making a cowardly escape and leaving his fellow soldiers behind before she realized that staying put was the worst possible idea. If her driver could get the truck to a wider part of the road, it would (a) give the friendly forces somewhere to retreat and regroup away from the insurgents, and (b) if the truck did get hit, the rest of the caravan would easily be able to pass it by without getting blocked by the large vehicle.
Against her better instinct but too hyped on adrenaline to think clearly, Lois stuck her head out of the back of the truck, gripping one of the roll bars as she leaned out just far enough to see the road ahead of them. Damnit, even as late in the evening as it was, it was effing bright out without her sunglasses on and the dust in the air obscured her vision, but Lois was pretty sure she could see a spot maybe a klick farther down the road which would work for her driver’s purposes. The one problem was that Lois was pretty sure she could also see a man who was definitely not a ‘friendly’ tossing something that looked suspiciously like an IED onto the dirt ahead of her vehicle.
Her suspicions were confirmed half-a-second later as the driver slammed on the brakes the same moment that the device exploded less than a meter away from the front of the truck. Lois would later swear that the detonation sent both her and the vehicle flying at least a few feet into the air, though she only remembered gripping the damn roll bar like her life depended on it (it probably did) only to have it ripped out of her grasp when the military truck rolled onto its side and she was thrown from the crash.
The ounce of self-preservation instinct that her father, General Lane, had somehow managed to drill into her head over the years, suddenly kicked in when Lois was very violently reminded that even if she had survived the bombing of her transport (‘survived’ was stretching it a little bit - she was ninety-percent sure she’d cracked a few ribs and had at least a mild concussion), there was still the issue of being smack in the middle of a violent firefight without so much as a Sig Sauer in her fist.
Huddled behind a rock not far from her wrecked vehicle (now conveniently on fire) with her go-bag clutched firmly against her aching chest, Lois could only watch in horror as insurgents appeared on the hills around the road and fired repeatedly on the US soldiers. The thought that this could not be happening hammered repeatedly through her head, drowning out any other coherent ideas she might have had as Lois searched for her liaison, the captain, somebody, anybody who could tell her what the hell she was supposed to be doing when half of the company was getting shot down before her very eyes.
Her silent plea was answered a minute later when one of the other US military transports pulled up a few meters away from her makeshift hiding place and someone shouted over the constant pock-pock-pock of bullets being fired for the lady-reporter to get her ass in the truck.
Lois didn’t hesitate.
She did her best to make herself as inconspicuous and small a target as possible as she sprinted towards the vehicle, trying ignore the hail of gunfire surrounding her (Lois swore to never again complain about having to wear the heavy flak jacket) as she scrambled into the back when her escape from the danger zone was suddenly halted by the extreme pain of a bullet tearing through her left calf at a speed of around one-thousand-seven-hundred miles-per-hour.
A scream left her throat before she had the chance to bite it back, but Lois refused to let the debilitating agony get the better of her, and with the last of her energy managed to all but throw herself into the vehicle. Panting hard, she rolled onto her back in the empty truck bed (both relief and horror sweeping through her when she realized that the only other occupant of the transport was the driver - all of the soldiers, and their medic, would be out attempting to quell the attack), another groan leaving her as Lois tried not to get too bruised by the bouncing of the truck on the dirt road as she tore her headscarf off from beneath her helmet and bound it tightly around the wound on her leg, which was seeping blood at an alarming rate.
Lois was one-hundred-percent aware that she was in some pretty deep shit as it was, but her day got even worse when she was suddenly confronted with one of the Afghani insurgents hanging off the back of her truck. The man must have managed to jump onto the vehicle when it slowed down to pick her up and hopped in the back while Lois was tying up her leg, though instead of targeting the driver, he made his intentions very clear by pointing his rifle at her.
Besides the very obvious threat of a gun in her face, it was at that exact moment that Lois realized something terrible. With her strawberry-blonde hair mostly hidden beneath her helmet and dressed in what consisted of about two-thirds of the typical US servicemen’s kit (minus the weapons, comms, and survival tools), she probably looked almost identical to the soldiers fighting outside. Conclusion: Lois looked nothing like a noncombatant and definitely something like an enemy, which was the reason for the bad end of a M16 assault rifle pointed directly at her head.
A moment later, as the man shouted something that was definitely threatening at her in Dari, Lois realized something else slightly less terrible - there was a pair of survival packs tucked underneath the benches lining the truck bed, and the one nearest to her had a holster attached to the side. A holster, which conveniently enough, contained what looked an awful lot like a goddamn Sig Sauer P320.
Lois didn’t hesitate.
She gritted her teeth as she kicked out with her good leg, getting lucky enough to nail the insurgent right in the balls without his gun going off at her head. While he was busy screeching in pain, Lois took advantage of the distraction to roll onto her side (ignoring her protesting broken ribs as she did) and yank the pistol out of its hiding place just in time to point it at the man in the same moment that he pointed his rifle back at her. Fear flickered in his eyes at the sight of a weapon in her hand, but Lois did not doubt that something as simple as another gun in the game would stop him from taking her life - and damnit, she still had some stories to write.
The pistol was cool against her palm, the safety was off, and her finger was on the trigger.
Lois didn’t hesitate.
V*V*V*V*V*V*V
She woke up in what she almost immediately recognized as a military triage ward thanks to the distinct scent of antiseptic and the clean, white bandage on her calf. Any normal person’s first thought would have been something along the lines of I should find a medic to ask for stronger pain meds, but Lois was anything but normal and the first thought that entered her head upon regaining consciousness was Oh, shit, I killed someone - will I be charged with murder under self-defense or will I be tried as a soldier in combat?
Lois contemplated her situation. She was more familiar than most with the process of military and wartime law, and considering that she was there as a war correspondent (so a non-combatant) she couldn’t exactly claim innocence as a soldier doing their duty. But then again, even if her assailant had been an enemy she hadn’t wanted to kill him, just get him off the truck and leave her be. That surely had to count as self-defense.
Before she could worry about the matter any further, a voice off to her right broke through her thoughts, “Miss Lane?”
Her head shot up (spinning slightly at the sudden movement - a sure sign of a concussion), and Lois turned on her cot to face the man, who appeared to be sergeant-ranked medic, if the insignias on his shoulder were anything to go by.
“Sergeant Hunsicker,” he introduced himself, stepping closer, “I came by to see how you were holding up and ask if you needed anything. And to check the wound, of course.”
“How bad is it?” Lois asked, nodding to her injured calf as the medic examined the bandage for any signs of bleeding or infection. He shrugged.
“You’re not as bad off as some of the boys I’ve had in here today, but you’re decently high on the list. Luckily, the slug missed the tibial vein and only the muscle was torn - you’ll have a bit of a limp, though you should consider yourself lucky just to be alive, Miss Lane.”
Lois couldn’t help but smile at his last comment - he had no idea how many times she had heard that before.
“You have a mild concussion and a few bruised and broken ribs on your left side, though none of that can’t be cured with a few weeks of rest,” the sergeant medic continued, “I expect you’ll be back in fighting shape within the month. In the meantime, is there anything you’d need? Supper’s about to start, if you want some of that.”
“I’d like a crutch,” Lois answered immediately - she wasn’t about to be bedridden just because of a damn gunshot wound. Unfortunately, the medic must have picked up on that and shook his head in response.
“Sorry, Miss Lane, but you’ve lost too much blood to be moving around so soon. Maybe if you’re feeling better tomorrow. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Get Lieutenant Doherty in here - I want to talk with him,” Lois demanded after a moment’s contemplation. The sergeant paused, confused, then nodded in acknowledgement of the order, temporarily forgetting that it was given by an injured war correspondent and not his superior, and jogged off to find the press liaison.
Lois allowed herself to relax slightly into the uncomfortable cot, grateful that the ambush had been quelled and most of the company survived - though this was by no means a time to relax and recover. A hundred questions were still racing through her head from the experience: how had the insurgents known to attack there? How had the US military not spotted them beforehand? Was there a mole in the operation? Wasn’t this supposed to be a no-combat zone? What had the insurgents been after? What was either side’s goal in this war?
Bruised and banged up as she was, Lois smelled a story, and there was no way in hell she was about to let a little hesitation get in her way.
