#lets call it

the left arm is bigger than the other but shhh, it can always be corrected on ps when digitalized. I am conscious that i need to polish my anatomy soone or later, we'll get at it As yall can see from the date from up the page, this was made early this month. I was feeling at my lowest for some reason so i wanted to feel back at it by drawing my comfort character Alex

Something is going wrong? Draw Alex

Y'all still don't know him because I rarely post about him in here but from all my oc's i think he's the only one who has a place in this blog.

but we shall not worry because more oc's are coming since all I do on my sketchbooks is draw my ocs and doodle random things.

Kieran was getting better. Slowly, but steadily, surely. He could feel the wound ache less and less every day, and standing up didn’t make his vision black out for several seconds, only a few. 

It wasn’t enough. 

Every day he would see the doctor– the prisoner– get worse. More worn down, more battered, more bruised. The dark circles under his eyes grew more prominent, and he could have sworn the man was thinner than he had been when he first saw him a week ago. 

Kiiran heard the now familiar jingle of chains right before the doctor was thrown in through the doorway, landing on his hands and knees with a dull thud and a pained gasp that made Kieran wince. 

The guard entered behind him, a sneer on his face as he kicked the down man, “Go on then, what are you waiting for? For the General to magically recover by himself?” 

The man quickly climbed to his feet, not replying. Kieran was grateful they’d at least removed the chains around his hands, if not his legs. A necessity, he knew, for him to work with any efficiency, but also a kindness. Even if of the smallest measure. 

The casual cruelty made him uneasy as he watched the doctor unravel the bandages from around his torso, his hands gentle. The clean white linens were only spotted with blood this time, rather than completely stained red. He thought it was a good marker of just how hard the man was working, considering the gaping hole of flesh and blood that it had been initially.

His hands remained steady and careful as he quickly and efficiently changed the bandages under the watchful eye of the guard. Kieran knew just how easy it would be for the prisoner to not be careful, to just dig in his fingers a little, to pull too tight, to give him the wrong medication, to forget pain relievers. Anything, really. He wasn’t an expert in medical care, nor were any of the guards assigned to watch over them, which is the whole reason they’d needed the prisoner. Someone from the enemy lines. 

And yet, the man remained efficient throughout, causing minimal pain. At least from what he could remember. Kieran had been quite delirious the first day. But if he hadn’t hurt him the subsequent days, then Keiran doubted he would have the first one. 

He wondered if this gentleness came from fear of punishment or some sort of doctor’s honour. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. 

He let him pour the bitter, medicine infused water into his mouth in small sips, a hand under his head to keep it up. Kieran could feel the hand and the bowl shaking ever so slightly. The medication always made him drowsy, and healing was tiring business. 

He could feel unconsciousness tugging at him as the man slowly lowered him back to the bed. 

The last thing he heard before slipping under was another pained cry from the prisoner as the guard grabbed him, escorting him to wherever they kept him when he wasn’t being in use. 

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