#cw injury care

[whump-card]

Sunless Lives Part 2: I Should Have Known

~1520words

CW: panic, negative self-talk, injury care, denial of medical aid, bad boss, IV

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~~~

They can see you.

They’re all going to see you.

Simon half-fell, half-lurched off of the bed and staggered over to the door, slamming it shut. He slid against it down to the floor, sucking in air as his vision continued to narrow and darken.

They got him. They got him. Just keep the door closed and you’ll be fine.

Thump-thump-thump.

HE’S BACK.

Simon’s hands flew up and gripped his head, and he realized for the first time that his left temple was bleeding from where he hit it on the counter. And his head was… vibrating? No, he was talking, and hadn’t even known.

“No, no, no no no no…”

“Simon! Are you - Are you okay?” Matthew.

“Go away!” Simon shrieked. Again his voice cracked as he broke into sobs, he sounded so stupid, how did any of this even happen -

The door rattled against his back, and he wailed in terror. 

“Please, Simon, we need to make sure you’re okay!” Matthew called.

Another voice cut in.

“Just leave him alone, for God’s sake! Help me with this bastard, come on!”

Christian.

Christian is safe.

“Chris!” Simon called weakly. He pressed his feet into the floor, trying to stand, but the attempt made the darkness in his vision swell. He ended up collapsing fully onto the floor in the fetal position, but that at least gave the door a little space to open.

“Chris!” he called out again. The door slowly opened a couple inches.

“Cap- Christian had to wrangle Finch,” Matthew spoke gently from behind the door, “He can’t… He’s gone, do you want me or Gina?”

Gina the ice queen, who barely spared Simon a second glance most days, or Matthew, who Simon had some pretty intense what-if feelings about? Hard to pick which was worse. But if humiliation is inevitable, might as well go with the person who’s actually nice. Simon pulled his buttonless shirt closed and sluggishly rubbed at his face with his sleeve, trying to get the blood off his mouth. Trying to make it less obvious.

“Matthew,” he finally breathed.

“Okay, Simon, I’m coming in.” The door eased open a little further, and Matthew scooted in sideways. He cursed under his breath when he saw Simon on the floor, but otherwise kept his reaction under control. He turned back to the cracked-open door.

“Gina, pass me the bite kit?”

Gina’s lean hand passed the large white box through the gap. Matthew knelt on the ground next to Simon and popped the latches open. Simon seemed to be drifting away.

“Chris?” he murmured.

“Hey, stay with me, Simon,” said Matthew. He rolled Simon onto his back and spotted the head wound.

“Shit - Gina, this is really bad, we have to take him to a hospital.”

“Okay,” Gina replied from beyond the door, “I’ll let Captain Isles know.”

“Thanks.” Matthew pulled on some nitrile gloves and focused on packing the bite and the head wound with gauze, taking care to open Simon's shirt as little as possible, then started setting up an IV with the synthetic blood that came with the bite kit - a medical marvel that could be used for universal transfusions, but not drunk by vampires. It worked quickly and didn’t need refrigeration, but it had some unpleasant side effects.

All the while Matthew kept talking to Simon, trying to keep him awake. He narrated his work, getting mumbles and blinks in response.

“Okay, those are all patched up for now, you’re going to feel a little pinch, okay?” He rolled up Simon’s sleeve to insert the IV.

“Mhm - Ah!” Simon winced when Matthew inserted the IV.

“Sorry, sorry!” Matthew flinched in sympathy. “Hey, keep your eyes open for me. Simon?” Matthew touched Simon’s chest, causing him to whimper.

“What was that, are you hurt there?” Matthew hung the IV bag on the doorknob to free up his hands, and pulled open Simon’s shirt, revealing fresh bruising where he had crashed into the floor. Matthew pressed gently to confirm the broken ribs, eliciting a small cry from Simon, but Matthew was distracted by what else he saw there.

Simon’s torso was laced with scarring. Clustered around the soft light brown flesh of his waist were marks that Matthew recognized as bite scars: dozens of pairs of discolored dots, some indented and some raised, with the occasional crescent of a full set of teeth. Further up, random little lines were scattered across his ribs, likely from short, deep cuts; and now that some of the blood was sopped up and Matthew pulled the shirt open further, he saw that bite scars spread densely across Simon’s shoulders as well. Matthew couldn’t make much sense of the lines but he knew what the quantity of bitemarks meant. At some point in his life, and probably for a long time, Simon had been a bloodbag.

Not that they were supposed to use that terminology, of course. ‘Blood worker’ or ‘blood trafficking victim’ were preferred but… who had the time to say all that?

Simon always did.

Matthew was startled out of his discovery by someone bursting into the room behind him. Matthew spun around to tell them off, only to find that it was Captain Isles, looking rather harried.

“Cap! Good, he was asking for you.”

Isles closed the door, then circled around and crouched at Simon’s other side, looking him up and down.

“What's the damage?” he asked.

“At least one broken rib, a really deep bite, and a head injury.”

“Chris?” Simon mumbled again. His eyes fluttered, wandering up to Isles’ face. The captain didn’t respond, but didn’t look away either.

“He had all his clothes on when you got here?” he asked.

“His shirt's been ripped open but -” the words caught in Matthew’s throat as he realized what his captain was asking. “But yeah, I think so, Cap.”

Isles stood abruptly.

“He’ll be fine. No need to take him anywhere.”

“What?” Matthew leapt to his feet as well. “Sir, he took a serious hit to the head, he needs to go to the emergency room!”

“And if we take him out of this building he’ll be at risk of an attack far worse than this!” Isles insisted, “We can treat him here.”

“Okay, I’ll call the infirmary.”

“No, we can’t do that either.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because.” Captain Isles paused and took a breath, steeling himself. “Nobody can know about this.”

Matthew gave up on saying ‘what’ again, just opening his hands in a desperate question.

“Listen,” Isles said, his voice low and dangerous, “We wildly fucked up here, letting Finch get loose in the VIU building. If this is officially reported in any way, the whole team, including me, and including Simon, lose our jobs.”

“And that’s worth risking Simon’s life? He could have brain damage!” Matthew retorted.

Isles huffed, and crouched back down to rifle through the bite kit. He pulled out a pen light and lifted Simon’s eyelids, flicking it across his eyes, lighting the dark brown up gold.

“Chris, what’s happening?” Simon asked softly. “Is he gone?”

“Yeah,” said Isles, “He’s gone.” He stood back up to address Matthew.

“Pupils are normal, and now that he's got some blood back in him he’s talking. He’s going to be fine, I promise.”

Matthew shook his head fervently.

“I still don’t understand -”

“You don’t need to understand!” Captain Isles snapped, “But I’ll lay it out for you anyway: this team is an experiment, I’m trying to use Simon’s experience instead of letting the VIU toss him into victim protection where he would have been sniffed out anyway. Twice now we’ve gotten into trouble, had agents in danger, because vampires recognized Simon’s voice over the radio. This would be our third strike, and it would end our team, and Simon’s privileges here at the VIU. You might think you’d be helping him by reporting this, but you’d be killing him. Without the security of living here at the VIU, he’s dead - or worse.”

Matthew stared at his captain, trying to process all of this new information. What exactly was Simon’s experience? It was looking less like he’d kicked vampire ass in the field and retired to comms and research with a few grudges to be wary of, and more like he’d been… captured. And their team was an experiment? Matthew had no idea their team was different from any other. Was this why the whole team were newbies except for Simon? Did the much older and more experienced Isles not want anyone who would notice that their team was different? Had they always been in more danger because of Simon and not known it? Matthew had joined the team last, was he even more in the dark than the others?

Simon had reached out and taken hold of Isles’ pant leg.

“Chris, can you stay? Please?” His voice was small, and fresh tears clustered in his eyes.

The captain glanced down at him, then back up at Matthew.

“Stitch him up. He’s bleeding through the gauze,” He ordered. “I need to go, we’re leaving with Finch.”

He jerked out of Simon’s grip and left the room.

~~~

~~~

~~~

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Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy @pigeonwhumps @sunshiline-writes

[sarathrwizard]

Sneaky peaky! (I Care.) >:)

So which one do you think is more heart breaking? 💔

Finding the person dead already? Or finding them in there final breaths?

[tangledinink]

TMNT: Stabilize [ part one ]

[ next -> ]

[angeart]

in other news, i just finished this—

[muzzleroars]

Gabriel (/ˈɡeɪbriəl/) - “Strength of God”, more accurately “God is my strength” (or, what does it mean to be the righteous hand without a body?)

[littletrash1027]

If TMNT 2012 had blood...

Leo’s fight with Shredder’s forces in season 2 is a great opportunity to practice fight wounds. this was my first try at it, and also sharp force due to Shredder’s final slash. maybe i’ll do another with a better frame.

[p1nkc4lyps0]

Damn these twinks built completely identical huh, wonder what that’s about

[tytangfei]

Don't sleep, Xiaoyao. I'm begging you. I'm sorry. It was my fault. I shouldn't have left you. No matter what, I shouldn't have left you. I was too greedy to give up my status as Tushan Jing. Xiaoyao, please. Open your eyes and look at me. I'm your Shiqi. Xiaoyao, I only want to be your Ye Shiqi. Didn't we agree that I'll be with you forever? You can't abandon me. Wherever you go, I'll follow you.

[digitaldoeslmk]

"I don't care what you do to me, but you're not laying a hand on this child."

[whump-card]

This Death That I Chose: Chapter 7

1350 words

CW: discussion of self harm, injury care, manipulation, conditioning, derogatory language, discussion of past noncon, fade to black dubcon, pet whump, character referred to as “kid” is an adult

First, Previous, Masterlist, Next

~~~

“Got it!” Tao burst back into Karlo’s room with the first aid kit, ready to patch up the young man’s thumb. He would have brought Faye to take care of it, but when he said he was going to Karlo had looked at him with big eyes and asked hesitantly, “Can you do it?” and how could Tao say no to that?

He sat on the bed and popped the first aid kit open, digging out antiseptic wipes. He ripped open one of the little packages and made a come here motion at Karlo. Karlo leaned forward and offered his hand, which Tao pulled onto his lap. Karlo inhaled sharply when the wipe made contact with the bite mark.

“So,” Tao said, as he gently cleaned the wound and the smeared blood on Karlo’s palm, “You did this to yourself?”

When he looked over, Karlo had his head slightly bowed and was gazing at Tao through his eyelashes.

“I didn’t mean to,” Karlo murmured, “I just got overwhelmed.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” Tao tossed aside the used wipe and uncapped a tube of antibiotic ointment. “Is that something you do often? Hurt yourself?”

Karlo shook his head. “No, sir. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Tao smeared the ointment on Karlo’s thumb and then started hunting through the kit for an appropriately sized band-aid.

“I’m not worthy of your kindness,” Karlo said softly.

“Oh, don’t even start,” Tao chided, “We’re not trading you back for anything.” He found a finger band-aid and applied it to Karlo’s thumb, carefully peeling away the paper from the sticky sections and wrapping it firmly. “All done,” he announced, setting Karlo’s hand down palm-up on his knee.

Karlo leaned forward a bit further, nearly touching his forehead to Tao's shoulder. He rolled his hand over to rest his palm on the older man’s thigh.

“Is there any way I could… pay you back?” he breathed.

“Aww,” Tao patted his hand, “Don’t worry about it, kid.” He stood and gathered the trash he’d generated, and closed up the first aid kit.

“Are you – are you leaving?” Karlo sounded confused.

“Yeah, so,” Tao rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, “The community decided, not only are we keeping you, we’re going to make our final run for Canada. Since you said the Commander knows we’re here. I need to help organize people and pack up supplies.”

“Can you please stay?” Karlo pulled his knees up, chewing his lip.

“I really can’t,” Tao said regretfully, “But Hannah will look after you today, alright?”

Karlo shook his head. “But I don’t know her.”

“Uhh…” Tao scoured his options, then snapped his fingers. “How about Vic? He’s my friend, I trust him.” But didn’t quite trust him to be organized enough to be effectively helpful at packing supplies – Vic was a genius in a fight, that’s why he was a Watch leader, but his personal space always looked like a bomb had just gone off. Becca and Tao wouldn’t miss him today.

“Your friend,” Karlo echoed.

“Yeah, would that be okay?”

Karlo didn’t look satisfied, but he nodded.

Tao left, somewhat pleased that Karlo seemed to be taking a liking to him. He still couldn’t get a clear read on the boy’s real personality, though. Karlo had been, in turn, defiant, terrified, unflappable, and now, a bit lonely. Tao couldn't help but wonder what Karlo would be like once he accepted he was safe. He remembered the bright smiles in Marina’s photo collection, and his heart twinged. Would Karlo ever get that smile back?

~~~

“You must be Vic,” the young man sitting up in the bed smiled shyly. His eyes darted up and down Vic’s figure where he stood in the door; tall, muscular, with a shaved head and dark blond eyebrows. Like Tao and the other Watchmen, he carried a gun.

“And I hear you’re Karlo,” Vic replied, politely returning the smile.

“Actually, I – I really prefer Lark.”

Vic had been on the receiving end of more than one conversation with Becca about respecting people’s preferred names and pronouns, so he shrugged.

“Lark it is.”

He closed the door and moved over to sit in the chair next to Lark’s bed.

“Tao told me you’re feeling a little lonely?”

“Yes, sir.” Lark’s voice was soft and pleasant, very unlike the feverish shrieks that had come out of him the last time Vic had seen him. Vic chuckled.

“You know, I’m always trying to get the Watchmen to call me sir. It never sticks.”

Lark tilted his head, curious.

“I thought Mr Tao was in charge of the Watch.”

Vic cleared his throat.

“Well, it – it’s shared. We’re both in charge.”

“Hmm,” was Lark’s only response. It sent a twitch of annoyance through Vic – not at Lark, but at Tao. They were supposed to be joint leaders of the watch, but with how impulsive Tao was he usually ended up giving orders first. Tao’s older age also commanded another level of respect, while Vic was only in his thirties. He changed the subject.

“You must be glad to hear we’re heading for Canada. The Commander won’t be able to get to you there.”

“Actually, I…” Lark bit his lip and shook his head. “Nevermind.”

“What is it?” Vic frowned.

“I…” Lark glanced nervously at Vic, then away. “I miss him. My master. Is that bad?”

“No, no!” Vic rushed to reassure him, “You’ve just… been through a lot, that’s all.”

Lark nodded.

“I just – I haven’t been touched, by anyone except doctors for the past two weeks, and… I feel like I might wither away, or something. I miss him so much.”

Vic wasn’t sure how to respond to this admission, so he just bobbed his head. “Right.”

“Well, what about you?” Lark turned to look at him with wide, shimmering eyes, “You’re so handsome, sir, you must have someone.”

Vic couldn’t help but flush.

“I don’t, but. Thanks.”

“Oh… How long has it been?” Lark asked innocently.

“It’s been…” Longer than Vic cared to admit. “A while.”

“I can’t imagine,” said Lark sympathetically, “I mean, my master fucks me every day and without it I -” he broke off, pressing a hand to his mouth, “I’m sorry, sir, I’m so sorry, that was gross.”

“I – it’s alright,” Van reassured him again.

“You don’t think I’m disgusting, sir?” Lark watched Vic fearfully, and Vic’s stomach did a flip.

“No,” he said firmly, “You’re not disgusting.”

“It’s just that… it feels like everyone else thinks so,” Lark looked away, brow furrowed with sorrow, “No will look at me or touch me… Not in the way that I want.”

Vic was captivated, staring at Lark’s sharp, mournful profile.

“What do you want?”

Lark bowed his head, picking at the corner of the band-aid around his thumb.

“It’s terrible. Nobody here understands.”

“You can tell me,” Vic found himself saying.

Lark shot him the briefest of glances before looking away again.

“I…” he took a breath, “I’m the Commander’s pet. I was made to have sex. It’s what I’m good at, and I enjoy it, and I – I miss it. But no one here would ever…”

“I could -” Vic started, before he caught himself. “I mean – I’m really sorry, I wish I could help you.” How could he even consider having sex with this traumatized young man? It didn’t matter how badly Lark wanted it, or how pretty his long silky hair was, or how beautifully his eyes shone when he was on the brink of tears; Tao and Becca would have Vic’s hide if they ever found out.

As if he could read Vic’s thoughts, Lark murmured, “No one would have to know, sir.”

“What about Faye, what if she…?”

“She just checked on me before you got here. She won’t be back until lunchtime.”

“I just – I don’t know, Lark…”

“Please?” Lark looked at Vic, catching his gaze and holding it this time. “Sir, please.”

Vic stared at Lark, at his pitiful, needy face, and all the blood rushed out of his head.

“Yeah,” he breathed, “Okay.”

~~~

First, Previous, Masterlist, Next

Taglist: @angst-after-dark, @sunshiline-writes, @flowersarefreetherapy, @pigeonwhumps, @whump-em, @morning-star-whump, @thecyrulik

[indie-summer]

oh my evenegaard heart ♥️

[i-eat-deodorant]

(old doodles of slythor, overseer of anura and god of gluttony)

In their prime, Slythor ruled the lands of Anura with deceptive harmony, amplifying the voices of worship and stamping down any murmurs of dissent. They were also a heavy patron of the arts; their harp and flute were used to hypnotize enemies, causing troops turn on each other.

Unfortunately, the constant warring of godhood proved fatal for Slythor. Wounded and blinded, they fled into the tunnels, leaving their cult to fracture into a million warring factions in their absence.

Underground they hid, trying to recover from unrecoverable wounds while their nation fell apart above them....up until one spitfire of a toad hunted them down and killed them for good.

[goodfish-bowl]

Getting some of my final ones in!

lineart by @tsubaki94

art under cut due to blood and injury.

Do you mind?

[kingprinceleo]

for the requests thing: can I ask for mephiles just beating the Shit out of hoax please. just kicking his ass so hard. maybe shadow’s forced to watch it happen :]

posts sent by mephiles in spirit HHSDGAGDAG

and by jesus god ASK AND YOU RECIEVED OMG hfbvhbjdfjh idk what happened man (exasperated) /lh i drew the bottom right as the very first one and was like :/ damn this doesnt Convey enough tho... and then it was 5 am. anyway i think mephiles is very silly and funny and wants to commit Real Life Murder, or get as close as he can while keeping them alive bc shadows got the good kush (blood) and both of them are fun to mess with

[marrfixated]

(More thoughts and drafting! Some weird formatting I know but it was all one block in my notes)

Emma is doing just fine. Average. It’s really not so bad.

She’s just been dealing with a lot of change. And with too many things not changing.

Which is… an odd thing to struggle with.

Because she likes change. Daunting challenges. The unpredictable. Doing new things every day and never being scared of them. And she likes independence.

She had thought so, at least.

After the show, she had been hit in the face with just how… isolated she was. She had only had two friends before the first season, but she had left them behind. Her mother wasn’t doing the best, and she didn’t have any nearby family.

She found herself laying in her bed in the middle of the day most of the time, scrolling through her contacts and old conversations.

Or scrolling through her comments on TikTok.

A few weeks ago, she had tried some stunt involving a motorcycle and an inflatable pool. She probably wouldn’t have messed it up if her hands weren’t trembling.

(She had forgot to check the breaks, and wasn’t sure if they were working.)

(They were.)

The blood dripping down her face and the gash in her lip didn’t sting as much as it did watching the video.

She looked ridiculous, and she probably always did. It was better when she had someone else to do it with. Maybe she was losing her touch.

She didn’t post the video.

She turned back to dancing instead, which did feel less embarassing, despite the constant mocking feedback. Sure, the jokes were “funny”, but she didn’t care about any of it. She didn’t feel the rush, she wasn’t planning every day, and she wasn’t known or loved for anything.

Except for what she lost.

And, the show, to an extent.

-Ugh, she misses the show. She shouldn’t, but as stupid as it sounds, she really did. She missed doing crazy things and talking to people. Having a chance of winning. Beating everyone. Being cheered on. It wasn’t always great, but at least it was something. She misses doing something.

And she really misses Bowie. She missed Bowie, but she knows better than anyone that she can’t go back to that. They just- have better things to do now. He probably does.

He’s got Raj- which is great! And she’s happy for him! She’s happy for everyone. For Wayne, however he’s doing, for Julia, despite everything.

And Caleb. For having Priya.

Emma is jealous that Bowie gets to have someone.

Emma is jealous that everyone else gets to have someone.

Emma is jealous that, unlike everyone else, winning the show probably wouldn’t have made her any happier.

She isn’t sure what would.

[the-good-luck-anomaly]

WOUND UNDER THE CUT. CW FOR WOUND