Blazing Stitches Novels & Stories

I used the small blade to remove the amateur stitches he made before coming back to clean the remnant of the wound. Unlike before, the silence now was tense and charged. As I cleaned his wounds this time I tried my best not to look at him. The minutes felt like hours as I clean the wound. Once I was done, I set aside the tray full of bloody gauze. I took out the surgical needle and thread, ready to stitch the wound.

Blaze and Demeter shared a knowing look with a smirk on their faces as thick, thorny vines sprouted around her while he forged two large fire swords and large wings popped out of his back. ‘Ironic that he would say that.’ The three of them charged at her with all their attack, faster than the speed of light, but she evaded everything you even faster. *Slash* Her glaive made a single, simple move; the blade lit with white fire cut through flesh and bones without any effort, and a body dropped to the ground. “One down, two more to go,” Layla called out, holding up the head of Boris like it was a trophy. Blaze and Demeter’s eyes grew wide; their faces blanched with horror, and they shared a wor

He grinned back at me. I doubled up the string, made it as thick as possible so it didn’t break going through my skin. I took a deep breath. I pinched the skin of my leg together and pushed the needle through; I connected the two pieces together. I hissed out as I pulled the needle and string through. I made a knot and went in for another stitch. My hands shook as I continued to make the stitches. Five minutes went by, and I completed my last stitch. I made ten haphazard stitches along the cut; it would scar, but it wasn’t bad for what I had available. “Not bad,” Joe said as he watched me cut the string with my teeth.

He narrowed his eyes at me, before grabbing me by the neck in a blinding speed, and crushing me with his body as he towered over me and backed me up against the side of the car. The moment his hand landed heavily on my neck and shifted my skin upward, I felt a tiny rip in my stitches and a horrible blinding pain to course through me. It was too intense, a painful small gasp escaped my lips involuntarily before I could hide it. My face contorted in pain just for one second before I wiped it off quickly so he doesn’t notice it.

Fractured bones were immobilized with precise, makeshift splints. I reached through the bars, grabbing the arm of an old man huddled near the front. He flinched violently, letting out a terrified whimper. "Don't move," I growled, pulling his arm closer to the dim torchlight to inspect the black thread stitching a deep gash on his forearm. My breath hitched in my throat. My eyes widened in absolute shock. The cross-stitch pattern was irregular, tight, and executed with a specific, blind-handed technique meant to minimize scarring under primitive conditions. It was a rare, highly specialized medical style.

And I see the tears falling from her eyes as she shakes her head, hugging her self and biting her trembling lips. What. The. Fuck! "Blaze, are you okay.. What is wrong with you?" I grab her hands but she doesn't stop, she keeps shaking her head.. Mumbling 'No' every now and then. Is she having a panic attack? "Blaze!" I shake her rigorously and then she blinks and peers up at me, her lips are still trembling. "Blaze, are you okay?" I ask and she jerks away from my grip, swiping her hands over her eyes.

he yelled in a manic voice as his hand lifted again and the belt slapped painfully against my skin. He screamed and yelled, calling me every horrible name he could think of as the belt whipped again and again against my skin. I screamed and pleaded as tears streamed down my face.Mybody screamed out in pain at each whip of the belt as he hovered above me beating me until he was exhausted and covered in sweat. My entire body throbbed and burned from his vicious attack as he collapsed on top of me. His hands wrapped around my neck and tightened, his fingers digging into my neck.

Lucien roared, his hand a vice on her shoulder, forcing her back into position. Tears of pure, undiluted agony streamed down her face, cutting fresh paths through the old, varnished blue tear. He didn't pause. POP-HISS. A second staple, an inch lower. Another scream, choked this time. He was stitching her to her own posture with cold metal.

“The bullet… it was from a military tranq mixed with something else. That is why it is not closing.” Damon exchanged glances with Linda. “Bullets?” They worked for what felt like hours. Damon tried different pressure points as Linda brought more towels, and the floor around the bed became stained with red. Finally, he managed to slow the worst of the bleeding. “Okay. I think I can stitch now. But this is going to hurt like hell and I have nothing strong for the pain.” “Do it,” I said again. He stitched the wound with calm hands while Linda held the skin together. I clenched my jaw so hard I thought my teeth would break.

Bleeding too much because panic had ripped the clot. “Hey,” Selena said, voice low, steady. “We’re going to put you back together. Can you breathe for me?” He nodded, teeth gritted. She cleaned. She numbed. She stitched. She talked to the girlfriend about pressure and salt and how sugar burns when you think it won’t. The girl laughed through tears at that and then cried anyway. Ten stitches later, it looked like a neat zipper. “Don’t lift,” Selena said. “Don’t run. Don’t be a hero.”