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[deklaire-blog]

Version 1.0 - Fanfic Trope Selector

Click here to visit the random fanfic trope selector. Filled with 126 fandom tropes supplied by my followers (and the internet), take a chance and see which one you get. 

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[deklaire-blog]

A Bad Decision {Whumptober Day 3- Prompt- Delirium}

{ When Peter doesn’t go to medical after an injury, the wound gets infected. Fearing the consequences if Tony finds out, Peter tries to take care of it himself. Unfortunately, it doesn’t go quite as well as hoped. Day 3 of Whumptober? Prompt 3- delirium. POTENTIAL T/W FOR INTENSE DESCRIPTION OF AN INFECTED WOUND, VOMITING, MINOR ANXIETY, AND MORPHINE TO TREAT PAIN. If any of these things may be triggering to you, please stay safe by doing what is best for you! @whumptober2019 }

Okay, sure, Peter had dodged medical. But they all dodged medical. He’d once witnessed Natasha claiming she could ‘stitch herself up’ whilst trying to hold her own intestines inside her body. It hadn’t been a big deal. It wasn’t a big deal. It was a scratch, really. His healing would take care of it, just like it always did. Or maybe not.

He prodded the flesh gently, his hand flinching away on contact. The cut was just above his lowest rib, festering and bubbling with pus. The skin around it was burning hot, sending a sharp pain through his body with Peter’s every move. He eyed the cabinet above his bathroom sink warily. If he went to medical like this, Tony was bound to find out. If Tony found out, he was bound to kill Peter and take his suit away, not necessarily in that order. His only choice was to take care of this himself, and the cut was going to need to be cleaned, ASAP. He took a shaky breath and opened the closet door.

Bottles of pills and first aid supplies lined the shelves. Tony wasn’t stupid, he knew his kid better than to think he’d have a doctor look at every cut and scrape. To make up for it, Peter had access to everything he’d need to take care of minor things. He glanced down at his bare chest again, wondering if this counted as minor.

First thing first, this was gonna hurt bad enough as it was, he could at least take some of his superhero-level prescribed painkillers. He grabbed the bottle, shaking a few into his hand. He slurped at the tap water from his sink, washing the pills down with some difficulty. He’d never been good with capsules.

Now was the hard part. Peter could do this, after all, he’d done it plenty of times before. A little peroxide, wrap up the wound tight, and he’d be all set. Hopefully. Before he could talk himself out of it, he grabbed the brown bottle, screwed off the cap, and poured it directly onto the wound.

Spots danced behind his eyes, his entire body shaking, trying to reject the process. He forced himself not to stop, biting down hard onto his tongue when he felt nausea building up. He couldn’t help but let out a strained cry. He had half a mind to just call his dad, let Tony take him to medical. Stroke his hair while the doctor fixed him up. Telling him to rest but promising a proper lecture in the morning. The last part is was made him push on. When he realized he’d stopped pouring the liquid fire, he put his shaking hand back, making himself pour again.

He bit his tongue again, straight through the delicate flesh. It was the taste of blood that did him in, sending him to retch over the sink. At first it was dry heaves, barely escaping as he swallowed convulsively. He wouldn’t throw up. He wouldn’t throw up. Despite his efforts, the medication came up first, strings of half digested, chalky pills dripping from his lips. Another contraction of his stomach muscles and a full fledged stream of liquid left his mouth, snot running down his nose to join. His shoulders racked with sobs as his body set out for another round, and another, and another. It was all bile now, burning his esophagus as tears streamed down his face. His body didn’t stop though, convulsing until black spots danced in front of his eyes, his body begging for oxygen.

Slowly, finally, the torture stopped. He took deep breaths, eying the wound again. Now that it wasn’t filled with pus, he could tell it was deeper than he’d originally thought. Seeping out a steady stream of blood. He’d have to stitch it up. His eyes darted back up to the shelf. Apparently his dad hadn’t thought that was necessary supplies outside of the medbay. He’d have to make do.

Pressing a wash cloth against the wound, he ventured back into his room, heading for his desk. He gruffly shoved a drawer open, rummaging through the mess. Peter’s room may be pristine on the outside, but inside the drawers junk was littered everywhere. It took him a few minutes to find the old sewing kit. The one he’d used to stitch up his makeshift suit before his dad had found out he was Spider-Man and given him an upgrade.

He reluctantly carried it back to the bathroom, opening the bag and spilling out its contents. He grabbed the biggest needle he saw, dousing it in alcohol before doing the same with a black spool of thread. He found it harder to thread the needle than originally planned. His hands were trembling, his vision doubling. It was only by dumb luck that he managed to pull the string through.

He swallowed heavily, staring at the wound. It’s just like sewing up your suit. He quietly promised himself. Nothing to worry about.

Before he could think about it any more, he pinched his skin together and stuck the needle straight through it. The needle was all the way through before the newest wave of pain caught up with him, and he had to grit his teethe hard to quiet the sobs racking his shoulders. His eyes watered, making his vision fuz all over again. He’d done it, though. He’d stuck the needle straight through. That had to be the worst part, right? Wrong. The friction of thread against skin, pulling pain stakingly slowly, finally sent him over the edge.

He let out a strangled cry, letting go of the needle so the string dangled loosely from his flesh. He tried to steady himself on the sink basin, but his hands were slick with blooding, slipping off of the smooth surface. He fell, his head smacking porcelain and tile. His vision burned bright white, and then went black.

oOoO

Tony was in the zone. Music blasting loud enough to burst his eardrums, tools being handed to him before he even had to say it, his AIs and drones and robots all working in sync has laser focused on his newest projects. This could change lives, save lives, end world hunger and-. “Uh, FRIDAY? Why did you just turn off my AC/DC?”

“Sorry boss, but I believe Peter is in distress and may need assistance.” Tony was up and walking at that. Or, more so running.

“What kid of distress are we talking here, FRI? Panic attack? Stomach bug? I swear to Thor if he caught another asgardian stomach bug I-“

“Peter appears to be suffering from a seizure” Tony’s blood ran cold.

“Call Cho, get her up here now.”

“Already done, boss.”

The ride up the elevator to the next floor felt endless, like the trip was miles long. He was out of the door as soon as there was enough space for him to squeeze through. Tony was practically tripping over himself to get into Peter’s room.

The room was empty, contents from his desk drawer strewn across its surface, and the bathroom door ajar. He could just see Peter’s bare foot, shaking sporadically.

“Peter? Pete?” He dashed forward, and the closer he got the worse it was.

Blood was everywhere, red hand prints streaming down the sink, dark liquid pooling on the floor, already drying brown on his kid’s face. And then there was the wound. The blood was almost bubbling up from it, the skin puckered and sickening red streaks spread out from his skin. Yellow pus and cloudy liquid leaked out with the blood. Infection. Worst of all a string with a needle hung from it, a single sloppy stitch cutting through his skin. He’d actually tried to stitch himself up. Tony dropped to his knees and prodded the blood-covered forehead, cringing at just how hot it was. How had this happened?

There was protocol in place for this. Karen should have alerted him, or FRIDAY, or one of the hundred of AIs and drones and robots he had flying around this place. Medical had strict instructions to always check the kid over, even if he seemed fine. The kid was a seasoned liar with little to no self preservation.

“Kid, please wake up.” He clutched the sticky hand. “Please.”

His only response was more convulsive shaking from the kid’s body. He wanted to stay there forever. Just clutching onto his baby. But Cho was shoving him out of the way, strong arms were holding him back, someone was putting Peter on a stretched, carrying him away. He caught a hint of blue on his kid’s lips, lacking oxygen and color. He all but collapsed into Steve’s arms.

oOoO

“Can’t you give him something for the pain?” Cho’s eyes studied him like Tony was a hurt puppy dog.

“The best we have is Steve’s morphine, and you know the consequences of that can be-“

“I don’t care!” Tears were prickling behind the man’s eyes and he desperately blinked them away.

“Tony,” Steve’s soft voice washed over him, always grounding. The younger man’s calloused hand rested on Tony’s shoulder. “Just take a deep breath, then decide.”

Reluctantly, he did as he was told. The first inhale was choppy, anxiety racking his system. But the next was a little easier, easing the tension built up in his shoulders.

“I just… Look at him.” Tony’s eyes flickered from Peter’s trembling form to Steve’s pinched expression. “He’s hurting.” Cho nodded in understanding.

“It’s your call, Tony. I have to hear you say it though, and you’ll need to sign off on some paperwork.”

“That’s fine, just… give him whatever it takes to stop hurting.”

oOoO

Someone was stroking Peter’s hair. Long, calloused fingers allowing the curly strands to slips through their finger tips over and over again. Peter liked that.

He blinked his eyes open, trying to adjust to the light. Where was he? Everything was white, and blurry at the edges. Like the entire world had become soft. Someone hovered just to his right, but not looking at him. He slowly attached the arm to the fingers in the hair. Same person. Looking down at something small and glowing. A phone, maybe, but Peter was too tired to really tell. A halo formed around the light of it though, and Peter was pretty sure that was weird. In fact, halos were forming around all the lights. He blinked hard but it didn’t go away.

“Pete?” The voice was floaty, almost far away. “Peter, you feeling alright, bud?” Peter’s eyes drifted lazily towards the noise, apparently coming from the man next to him. He recognized the face, but couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He just knew that face made him feel really good. In fact everything felt really good right now. Even if he couldn’t get any of his thoughts into a straight line.

He smiled wordlessly at the man, and the face smirked back. “Go back to sleep, kiddo. You’re gonna be feeling pretty out of it for awhile.” The voice was still floaty and sing songy, like a lullaby. My tried to tell him to keep talking but only a jumbled mass of sounds came out of his mouth. He frowned a little but the man just chuckled. “It’s okay bambino, I’m not going anywhere.” The voice didn’t stop this time, and Peter let his eyes drift closing, knowing it would still be there when he woke up.

{ @whumptober2019 }

[deklaire-blog]

so maybe you aren’t my first love, but surely you’re the first to deserve it

[deklaire-blog]

Trapped {Whumptober 2019 Prompt 2: Explosion}

{ This isn’t the first time Peter’s been trapped in a building, but it’s the first time Tony’s had to deal with it. Potential trigger warning for panic attacks, stay safe lovelies! @whumptober2019 }

Nothing happened at first, and Peter thought he’d imagined it. That it was an alien coming towards him who had been taken care of. The thought was allowed for seconds before the wave of energy flew into him, knocking the breath out of on impact. He was flying. A red and blue bird, gasping in the wind. He was crashing. Straight the a wall, and the another, and then down. He automatically turned, curling into himself and trying to protect himself from the debris crumbling down. Something hit his leg and a sound escaped him that he didn’t recognize. That couldn’t possibly be him… right?

Peter wasn’t sure of when the movement stopped. When the building he’d flown straight into stopped collapsing in on himself. When he peeled his eyes open his vision was red. Quite literally. Half of his head’s up screen was just burgundy static, the other half flashing with warnings and alerts.

“Karen?” It hurt his chest to breathe, and the name was more wheezed out then spoken.

“Yes, Peter?” The AI’s voice was far too cheerful. Too happy to be talking to Peter’s crushed body. It was also slightly jarbled, the simulated voice sounding more electronic than usual.

“What, a, what- what’s wrong with the display?” His voice trembled, and he found it almost impossible to get out a coherent sentence.

“It appears one of my software chips had been broken in the impact. It seems to be affecting the heads up display, communication input, and gps trackers.” The gps trackers?

“They-they can’t find me? They can’t hear me?” Breathing was becoming different in a whole new way. “No. No no no no no.” His lungs weren’t expanding right. Dust was filling his mouth and nose. He didn’t have a suit. Tony had taken his suit. With the gps, and the coms, and even Karen. No one knew he was here. They wouldn’t be able to find him. They weren’t going to find him.

Karen said something else, but he couldn’t hear it over the ringing in his ears. Had that ringing been there before? Had he burst his ear drums? Was so going deaf? He couldn’t hear. Couldn’t hear, couldn’t hear, couldn’t hear.

No one was coming for him. He was going to die down here.

oOoO

Boom. The blast knocked Tony sideways for only a second, his blasters quick to catch him and straighten out his curved form.

“FRIDAY, get me above this,” He strained out, adjusting settings quickly.

“Right away, boss,” Her voice floated out, far too happy for having just been in an explosion.

“And make a note for me to fix your voice tone.”

“Will do.”

His suit flew upwards, out of the stream of energy. Tony’s eyes widened. He could actually see the force of it in the air. That had been big. Really big.

“Clint, Wanda, Peter, check in now.”

“Accounted for,” Wanda’s accent floated softly into the coms, as calm as ever.

“Safe and sound,” And there was Clint, humor still mixed into his voice as if they hadn’t almost been blown up.

A long silence stretched out, every second making Tony’s heart beat a little faster.

“Pete, check in,” Nothing. His heart was bound to stop beating any second now. Arc reactor and all. “Spiderman, check in.”

“Kid?” Clint’s voice was joining in now, all humor gone.

“Peter?” Wanda’s accent wasn’t quite as smooth, her voice not quite as calm.

“FRIDAY,” Tony’s voice was strained with panic. “Patch me into Peter’s coms unit right now.”

A moment of silence, a crackle of static, and then he heard it. “He-help. Someone help me, please.” The voice trailed off, but the noise didn’t. Instead it was replaced with ragged breaths, racking sobs.

Oh, no. Oh, no no no. Not Peter. Anyone but Peter. Not again.

“Peter, can you hear me? Pete? Kid?” His only response was the continuing of hushed sobs, bearly audible pleas. To not lot him die. Not let him die down here, where ever that was. For Tony to come get him, please. “I’m trying, bud. I’m coming for you alright? I’m coming right now,” Only more of the same. “FRIDAY, track Peter’s suit.”

“It appears that Peter’s tracking device was damaged on impact. I only have a general idea of where Peter mat be.” A string of curses left his lips. He had his suit this time. Tony had spent weeks and all nighters on that suit after Toomes. Revising and revising again just so he could sleep at night. All for it to still fail him. For his worst nightmares to come true. For Peter to be trapped, alone, again.

“Okay… okay, uh, scan for heat signatures in any of the collapsed buildings.” He glanced over the area. They were smack dead in the middle of the suburbs, with hundreds of houses in ruins. They’d cleared out as many citizens as they could, but some always staid. Always thought they’d be safe.

One heat signature popped up in his vision. Then another. Then even more. There were dozens of them.

oOoO

“This building is cleared.” Clint was carrying a young girl, probably a preteen. He stepped out of the billowing dust like an angel out of darkness. Tony knew it was good that another person was safe. One more person was alive, and would see their parents again. But right now he was only worried about one kid.

“Wanda, how are you doing over there?” Tony look towards where she stood, red light shifting from her fingertips as she moves rubble off a man. She walked forward, kneeling as she put two fingers to the limp body’s neck. She gave Tony a grim shake of her head.

His heart clenched. Peter could be somewhere now, suffocating.

“I’ve got him!” Tony’s head snapped to where Clint was, throwing remaining rubble off a mess of red and blue. He flew straight to him, stepping out of the suit and collapsing beside the limp body.

“Pete? Pete, buddy?” Uninvited tears sprung to his eyes. “Can you hear me? Kid?” A mumbled reply was all he got, but it was enough. His kid was going to be okay.

Peter felt it before he heard it. A vibration at the base of his skull, intense and painful. He spun, running for Mr. Stark. To push the iron suit away from danger he was much more vulnerable to. And then- boom.

Nothing happened at first, and Peter thought he’d imagined it. That it was an alien coming towards him who had been taken care of. The thought was allowed for seconds before the wave of energy flew into him, knocking the breath out of on impact. He was flying. A red and blue bird, gasping in the wind. He was crashing. Straight the a wall, and the another, and then down. He automatically turned, curling into himself and trying to protect himself from the debris crumbling down. Something hit his leg and a sound escaped him that he didn’t recognize. That couldn’t possibly be him… right?

Peter wasn’t sure of when the movement stopped. When the building he’d flown straight into stopped collapsing in on himself. When he peeled his eyes open his vision was red. Quite literally. Half of his head’s up screen was just burgundy static, the other half flashing with warnings and alerts.

“Karen?” It hurt his chest to breathe, and the name was more wheezed out then spoken.

“Yes, Peter?” The AI’s voice was far too cheerful. Too happy to be talking to Peter’s crushed body. It was also slightly jarbled, the simulated voice sounding more electronic than usual.

“What, a, what- what’s wrong with the display?” His voice trembled, and he found it almost impossible to get out a coherent sentence.

“It appears one of my software chips had been broken in the impact. It seems to be affecting the heads up display, communication input, and gps trackers.” The gps trackers?

“They-they can’t find me? They can’t hear me?” Breathing was becoming different in a whole new way. “No. No no no no no.” His lungs weren’t expanding right. Dust was filling his mouth and nose. He didn’t have a suit. Tony had taken his suit. With the gps, and the coms, and even Karen. No one knew he was here. They wouldn’t be able to find him. They weren’t going to find him.

Karen said something else, but he couldn’t hear it over the ringing in his ears. Had that ringing been there before? Had he burst his ear drums? Was so going deaf? He couldn’t hear. Couldn’t hear, couldn’t hear, couldn’t hear.

No one was coming for him. He was going to die down here.

oOoO

Boom. The blast knocked Tony sideways for only a second, his blasters quick to catch him and straighten out his curved form.

“FRIDAY, get me above this,” He strained out, adjusting settings quickly.

“Right away, boss,” Her voice floated out, far too happy for having just been in an explosion.

“And make a note for me to fix your voice tone.”

“Will do.”

His suit flew upwards, out of the stream of energy. Tony’s eyes widened. He could actually see the force of it in the air. That had been big. Really big.

“Clint, Wanda, Peter, check in now.”

“Accounted for,” Wanda’s accent floated softly into the coms, as calm as ever.

“Safe and sound,” And there was Clint, humor still mixed into his voice as if they hadn’t almost been blown up.

A long silence stretched out, every second making Tony’s heart beat a little faster.

“Pete, check in,” Nothing. His heart was bound to stop beating any second now. Arc reactor and all. “Spiderman, check in.”

“Kid?” Clint’s voice was joining in now, all humor gone.

“Peter?” Wanda’s accent wasn’t quite as smooth, her voice not quite as calm.

“FRIDAY,” Tony’s voice was strained with panic. “Patch me into Peter’s coms unit right now.”

A moment of silence, a crackle of static, and then he heard it. “He-help. Someone help me, please.” The voice trailed off, but the noise didn’t. Instead it was replaced with ragged breaths, racking sobs.

Oh, no. Oh, no no no. Not Peter. Anyone but Peter. Not again.

“Peter, can you hear me? Pete? Kid?” His only response was the continuing of hushed sobs, bearly audible pleas. To not lot him die. Not let him die down here, where ever that was. For Tony to come get him, please. “I’m trying, bud. I’m coming for you alright? I’m coming right now,” Only more of the same. “FRIDAY, track Peter’s suit.”

“It appears that Peter’s tracking device was damaged on impact. I only have a general idea of where Peter mat be.” A string of curses left his lips. He had his suit this time. Tony had spent weeks and all nighters on that suit after Toomes. Revising and revising again just so he could sleep at night. All for it to still fail him. For his worst nightmares to come true. For Peter to be trapped, alone, again.

“Okay… okay, uh, scan for heat signatures in any of the collapsed buildings.” He glanced over the area. They were smack dead in the middle of the suburbs, with hundreds of houses in ruins. They’d cleared out as many citizens as they could, but some always staid. Always thought they’d be safe.

One heat signature popped up in his vision. Then another. Then even more. There were dozens of them.

oOoO

“This building is cleared.” Clint was carrying a young girl, probably a preteen. He stepped out of the billowing dust like an angel out of darkness. Tony knew it was good that another person was safe. One more person was alive, and would see their parents again. But right now he was only worried about one kid.

“Wanda, how are you doing over there?” Tony look towards where she stood, red light shifting from her fingertips as she moves rubble off a man. She walked forward, kneeling as she put two fingers to the limp body’s neck. She gave Tony a grim shake of her head.

His heart clenched. Peter could be somewhere now, suffocating.

“I’ve got him!” Tony’s head snapped to where Clint was, throwing remaining rubble off a mess of red and blue. He flew straight to him, stepping out of the suit and collapsing beside the limp body.

“Pete? Pete, buddy?” Uninvited tears sprung to his eyes. “Can you hear me? Kid?” A mumbled reply was all he got, but it was enough. His kid was going to be okay.

{ @whumptober2019 }

[deklaire-blog]

The Bite

{ An AU where when Peter goes through his transformation after the bite, his dad and pops (Tony and Steve) are there to help him. Happy first day of whumptober! @whumptober2019 }

Okay, so maybe Peter had heard his alarm go off the first time. And the second. And the third. And maybe he had turned it off the first time. And the second. And the third. His dads didn’t need to know that though. In fact, Peter thought his excuse for being late for was a pretty good one. Slept in when his alarm never went off. Despite that though, Peter was royale screwed.

“You do realize ironman has things to do, rightt? Things that don’t include driving you to school and having you blame it on my technology? Peter couldn’t help but flinch at his dad’s words.

“I didn’t say-”

“That JARVIS didn’t wake you up? Even though we both know that isn’t true? Yeah, Pete, that’s exactly what you said.” Peter stared uncomfortably at his lap. Truth was, he was so exhausted when he woke up that morning he hadn’t even been able to move. All of his muscles felt like jelly, and his entire body was stiff and sore. Maybe it was the Habitat for Humanity house building he had done, or being forced to (attempt to) climb the rope in gym. Either way, when he’d gotten back from that school field trip yesterday, he’d collapsed in bed and stayed like that until his Pops practically wrestled him out from under the mound of pillows and blankets.

He mumbled out some sort of apology, leaning his head against the cool window. Last night he’d been freezing, piling on every blanket he could find. Now, Peter felt like he was burning up. He closed his eyes. “Can you turn off the heat?” He murmured, the glass already warming from his body heat. After a beat of silence he looked towards his dad, whose eyebrows were scrunched up like when he got worried. “What?”

“The heat isn’t on bud, I’ve got the AC going.” Keeping one hand on the wheel, Tony reached one hand over to lay against Peter’s forehead, who couldn’t help but lean into the cooling touch. “You’re not warm.” His eyebrows furrowed deeper. “You aren’t trying to fake being sick are you? Cause trust me, I’ve been doing that crap for years and you aren’t going to pull anything over on-”

“Forget it I’m fine.” Peter turned away, just hoping the older man would stop talking long enough for the thrumming in his head to stop. “We’re almost there anyway.”

Tony sent him another worried glass, but silenced himself.

oOoO

“-eter, you good, man?” Peter looked up groggily from the math problem he was staring down.

“Huh?” Ned’s eyes were squinted, as if he was trying to x-ray him or something.

“You aren’t, like, getting the flu or something, right? Cause we have practice later, and you know MJ will kill you if you get the whole team sick. Again.” Peter dragged a hand down his face.

“I’m fine. Probably just the nasty weather or something.” Ned’s eyes flickered to the window.

“What nasty weather? It’s sunny out.”

“No, it’s-” The words froze in Peter’s throat. Where he could have sworn rain was pelting down flickers of light were cast on the window sill. “I could have sworn…”

“Really dude, maybe you should go the nurse or something.”

“I’m fine, I just-”

“Mr. Parker, Mr. Leeds, is there something you would like to share with the rest of the class?” Peter’s face went beat red, sheepishly sinking in the glare of their teacher whilst the other kids snickered.

“No, sorry.”

“Alright, then let’s return to our lesson if that isn’t too inconvenient for you.”

For a second Peter thought swimming in his eyes were tears, and he desperately tried to blink them back. That would be a million times more embarrassing than being called out by a teacher. But his vision was doubling, and his eyes weren’t wet. That was roughly when the dizziness kicked out.

It felt like a string in his ear was pulling him down to the floor. Gravity shifted and before he could try to balance it again his seat was tipping sideways. Just like the string wanted, his ear found the floor. Nausea hit him like a truck, and it was all he could do just to keep from retching. He heard voices, but he wanted to beg them stop. Please, please stop yelling. My head is pounding. He opened his mouth but what came out was far from English, a jumbled mess of vowels and consonants. Lights out.

oOoO

Tony’s hands shook as he ran his fingers through his kid’s hair. He’d done this a million times when Peter was sick. Pneumonia, chicken pox, the stomach flu. Poor kid seemed to catch every bug that came around. This time was different. This time Peter was shivering, and burning up. His eyes flickered back and forth faster than was within human control. When he wasn’t mumbling out absolute jiberish his was moaning, crying. Screaming…

“I’m sorry buddy. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” He laid his head against the claminess of Peter’s hand. Steve laid a hand on Tony��s shoulder, the comforting rumble of his voice filling the air again. Asking Cho the same questions that they’d both been asking for hours. What was happening? When will the test results be back? Will Peter be okay? Please, to ever alien on every planet calling themselves gods, just let Peter be okay. The answer was always the same. She didn’t know.

Didn’t know why he was burning right through every drug they put into his system. Didn’t know why Peter’s skin felt cold but his temperature was almost 108. Didn’t know why the blood sample they’d taken had a completely different DNA pattern than the one in the files. One with arachnid blood platelets. Didn’t seem to know anything. Other than that they would have to wait and see.

oOoO

Everything felt like red hot fire. Peter tried to pry his eyes open, but the light was fire too, burning into his pupils.

“Pete, hey bud. How are you feeling?” Fire to his ears. But fire he recognized. Pops? “Turn the lights off, I think it’s bothering him.” Yeah, definitely Pops.

The fire behind his eyelids disappears, and he tentatively peeled them open. “Dads?” The sounds of his own voice was surprising, startingly different. It was gravvely from lack of use, but also several octives deeper than before. As if he’d gone a second round of puberty. A scan of his body only continued this theme. Were those… muscles? Carefully defined behind his skin, all angles and bones. He looked back towards the concerned eyes of his parents. “What… happened?”

Tony walked a few steps closer, sitting on Peter’s bedside and letting his fingers tangle into the brown curls. “We don’t know yet, Pete. But we’re going to figure it out. Together.” And Peter believed him.

{ Thanks so much if you read this far! I’m brand new to tumblr, so sorry if the formatting is a little off. Please feel free to check out my Ao3 (de_klaire) where I’ll also be posting this story along with fica outside of tumblr. Thanks for all of your support! @whumptober2019 }

[deklaire-blog]

“You’re beautiful.”

“Why do you say that so much?”

“Because I know you don’t believe me.”

- excerpt from a life I wished to live

[deklaire-blog]

When a character doesn’t realize they’ve been, like, shot or whatever and they hand brushes against their side and comes away wet with blood, and they’re just staring at it like wtf is this and then their knees just totally give out on them and they sink down, maybe gasping a little as the reality finally hits them. That’s good stuff.

[deklaire-blog]

Surnames are just as important as given names. So, I compiled a list of the websites I use to find my surnames.

English Surnames

Dutch Surnames

Spanish Surnames

Scottish Surnames

German Surnames

Italian Surnames

Irish Surnames

French Surnames

Scandinavian Surnames

Welsh Surnames

Jewish Surnames

Surnames By Ethnicity

Most Common Surnames in the USA

Most Common Surnames in Great Britan

Most Common Surnames in Asia

[deklaire-blog]

Injuries Reference List

If you’re writing anything where your characters are getting injured a lot, it might be helpful to have an injuries reference list on hand. WELL, DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT BECAUSE I CREATED ONE. This is mostly the result of me having to look up something every time a character was gravely injured/being a lifeguard for seven years. I have some knowledge of first aid and how it might apply to the characters in your story.

Simple scrapes/cuts: There’s usually not much to worry about besides MAYBE an infection, which can be avoided with rubbing alcohol or peroxide. Remember, peroxide usually doesn’t burn or sting, but rubbing alcohol probably will.  These injuries will bleed for a short amount of time, but it shouldn’t last too long.

Bruising: These occur when the blood vessels break under the skin, forming discoloration of the skin. The colors can vary, but they are usually purplish, bluish, or yellow. Again, this injury is usually not serious if it’s a result of a bump or cut, but if there’s significant bruising over a large area of the body there might be a serious problem. Usually time heals bruising.

Sprains: A sprain is torn or stretched ligament, but it is NOT a break. It is very common for someone to sprain an ankle or a wrist and it usually doesn’t require serious medical attention. The area might swell and should be iced. Sprains are usually treated with rest and a device that compresses the area—such as a sling or a bandage.

Broken bones (arms, fingers, legs, toes): Breaks can be serious, especially if they have to be set back into place. A person will most likely not be able to put pressure on a broken bone until it is healed (which could take weeks). A broken bone is REALLY serious when it fractures or breaks through the skin completely. If you write a character in this sort of situation, they will need to worry about infection and they might have to wait until the swelling goes down before splitting or covering.

Burns: Obviously, there are different degrees of burns, but simple burns will most likely be treated the same. Even the smallest burns will probably sting like hell, so it can be hard to function with an untreated burn. SERIOUS burns might require amputation (I’m talking about maybe 3rd to 4th degree burns). As a 1st degree burn is healing, it might itch—think how sunburn starts to itch after a while.

Broken back: A broken back can lead to paralysis, so you need to be very careful with how you treat someone. Your characters shouldn’t be throwing anyone over their shoulders with a back injury because it will only lead to more serious problems. If you suspect that someone has broken or injured their back, you need to keep them still until there is a way to safely move them.

Amputation: This happens when the removal of a body part because necessary to someone’s survival.If someone has a bad infection or there’s no way to stop the bleeding (you’ve applied a tourniquet, which will most likely end up causing an amputation later), a character might have to amputate in a serious situation.

Dislocated limb: If a bone “pops” out of its socket, a character might have to put it back into place. A dislocated limb restricts movement, so your character might not be able to go forward until the situation is resolved. Arms and fingers are commonly dislocated and there will probably be pain when they’re set back into place. Those limbs should be rested and iced to prevent swelling.

Jammed fingers: If you get your finger caught in a door, for example, and it doesn’t break; you might have a jammed finger. I’ve had a few of these in my life, which usually causes bruising and some pain, but it heals on its own. These types of injuries can be from jamming your fingers against something hard and you might lose a finger nail. They will most likely hurt for a while until they are healed.

Stab wounds: These are usually deep cuts by a knife or a sword or another sharp object. They need to be treated, as they are prone to infection, and they should be bandaged. If the bleeding is excessively bad, a common way to stop the bleeding is to get stitches or cauterize the wound. Cauterization is the process of burning the wound in order to seal it up. Think of lightsabers in Star Wars. No one bleeds when they’re cut because the “blade” of the lightsaber cauterizes the wound as it cuts. Your characters might have to stitch someone or cauterize someone in an emergency situation.

Gunshot wounds: Getting shot is a serious/life threatening situation, so your characters would need immediate medical attention.In an emergency situation, the bullet might have to be dug out and the wound cauterized if the bleeding is severe. If the bullet goes in and out, you might just have to worry about infection and covering the wound. A gunshot wound will be painful and will take a while to heal. If someone is shot in the leg, they will have trouble walking. The limbs will need time to heal.

Poisoning: This is a wide topic that could include food poisoning to being poisoned by another character, but they will probably feel very sick. Symptoms will include vomiting, dehydration, diarrhea, etc. Your character might get severe stomach aches and will not be able to function.Being poisoned can be deadly and can happen quickly. A medicine called Ipecac will induce vomiting in order to get the poisons out of someone’s symptoms, but will not work for EVERYTHING. Further treatment might be necessary.

Stomach wound: A person with a stomach wound will not last very long without addressing it. If it is deep enough, it will kill off your character unless the bleeding and infection can be stopped. Infection is usually what kills people with stomach wounds or gunshot wounds.

This is a list to be used for WRITING purposes only. Obviously you should call a doctor or get emergency treatment if something is serious. I also wrote this list assuming that your characters don’t have access to medical professionals, so keep that in mind. Hope this helps!

-Kris Noel

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I love this generation so much we went through shit like drug scares and eating disorders and being punks and emos and self harmers and depressed and suicidal and now now now you start to see all these flower crowns and pastels and it’s like we’re all slowly slowly healing and growing up and it’s s obeautiful we’re all taking selfies and coming into our own and we’re all scared but we’re all here for each other and we’re unlearning inter-community hate and we’re all just such nice girls and boys and everything else we’re stars and flowers and fae and sunshine and we care about the world and we are just s obeautiful and powerful and new

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Whump without a whumper

What happened to regular old whump? Here are some scenarios for prompts I kinda miss

Sickfics. Someone with pneumonia or a stomach flu. Give me glazed eyes and chills and being weak from not being able to keep anything down. Their caretaker being run into the ground trying to take care of them.

Injured by a nameless assailant. Shot from afar by rebels, mugged in the night, hurt in a hit in run. The struggling walk or run back to their loved ones and catching them when they can't stay upright anymore. Being put to bed and finally feeling safe.

Clumsiness and random accidents. Falling down the stairs, fainting in the shower bc of exhaustion after a trying day (combo these with illness for mega bonus points), someone else falling on them.

Being hurt by a tough loved one who gets surprised or has traumatic flashbacks. Trying to hide it, being found out. The guilt!! The black eyes! Please.

Chronic illness or mental illness. I'm not trying to trivialize these - a lot of the great fics I've read seem to come from people who let out their own experiences on characters. Putting up with it, being strong but breaking down, trying to hide it, bad days.

Emotional h/c. Loneliness, guilt, bad memories being brought up at inopportune times and having to hide it until they have a second to breathe. Caretaker trying to comfort them once they realize, feeling guilty for not realizing, and eventually breaking through to them. Making a little progress that gives us hope.

Caught in bad weather. Hypothermia, heat exhaustion, deserts and rain and snowstorms. Complaining and being ignored until they faint.

Give me it all. Not that I don't love torture fics (that sounds straight up sadistic) but I long for the simpler times. The magic writers made out of the everyday, that still tug at your heartstrings.

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*carefully approaches a word document & opens it while trying not to spook the easily scared muse called Motivation away*

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I’m on sick leave so I’m using my time and mushy brain for this weird comic I haven’t yet figured out how to finish.

So here you go with part 1.

The wacky concept to this unnecessary bloody comic: What if Spider-Man got the Gauntlet off on Titan? Stay tuned for more … of this.

Part 2 - Part 3

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When the kidnapped/captured whumpee flinches away from his friends as they shake him from sleep or unconsciousness upon finding his

Bonus points if he’s blindfolded and thus can’t instantly tell if it’s not just his captor coming to torment him some more

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A quote from my history curriculum (Monarch)

Throughout history, writers and thinkers armed with words have fired the first shots in wars and silenced the shouting voice of frenzied mobs.

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Banshee- a poem

I always expect the worst from people around me

Then I’m either pleasantly surprised or right

So I scream like a banshee

Until they get the message and take flight

Away from the girl with broken bones

Fractured so that the moonlight can bleed through

Washed away by harsh tones

Reaching for something she can never seem to get to

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