#loss of consciousness whump

[syncopein3d]

I don't know if this 100% falls under whump, or if it's just asexual somnophilia, but I love various types of guards being nonlethally taken down by sneaky figures in black. I'm going to describe two scenarios, one male and one female, and the male one is first because I know some of you are uncomfortable with female whumpees.

A dude's just strolling through the museum, thinking about his midnight lunch break, when there's a sudden sting in the side of his neck and he grabs at it only to come away with a red-fletched metal dart in his hand.*

He makes some kind of confused remark ("The Hell - ?") and grabs for his radio, but it slips out of fingers that suddenly feel fat and uncooperative. An arm slides around his waist as his knees give, and then the blast of euphoria hits his brain and everything feels great. He gapes at a blurry figure above him, heavy-eyed, as he starts to float.

"Everything is all right," a gentle voice tells him. "You can go to sleep."

He doesn't remember why anything would be wrong with that. He doesn't even remember to fight it. He slides off into a warm, happy dream as his entire body goes limp.

Another guard is patrolling some warehouse full of crates whose contents she knows nothing about when something clatters off to her left. She spins toward it, drawing her weapon, only to realize there's a canister spewing white smoke rolling toward her feet. She holds her breath as she turns to try and get out of range, then twitches and gasps at another noise from directly in front of her. It's another canister, and she's just taken a deep breath of something that burns slightly and smells like chemical roses.

She janks right and runs between the tall shelves, but her entire body feels heavy and odd. She realizes she forgot to try and hold her breath again. She can see the roses now, hovering all around like a magic thicket. Something hits her right side, and she realizes it's the shelf. Where'd the weapon go? She must have lost it in the thicket. The smell of roses is so strong and she feels so tired, suddenly. Something bumps into her knee. It's the floor. She fumbles at the shelving, but it's like she's being pulled toward the center of the earth, like gravity is so much stronger than before.

She slides over sideways. A hand catches her so she doesn't bang her head, lowering her to the floor. There's something dark above her, but she can't see it clearly.

"Thanks," she mumbles.

"You're welcome, dear. Shh, now." A hand strokes her hair. It feels lovely, lights up her whole head and spine like a rainbow with soft, sleepy tingling. She stretches her legs and shivers involuntarily, overpowered by the feeling, and as it fades, she fades with it. She's never slept as well as she will on that concrete floor tonight.

*There are no human trank darts irl. There's no consistent way to administer a correct dosage, and basically no substances knock a person all the way out for long without paralyzing breathing. With animals this is less of a concern because they don't have to be unconscious, just too groggy to resist being tagged, medicated, loaded into a truck, etc. And real trank darts are a very specific design that looks like an awkwardly long syringe to accommodate the rocker membrane that does the injection on contact. But I am willing to suspend disbelief on the fake metal movie dart with the little red feathers, because I like it. I'm willing to just make up fantasy meds.

[whumpygifs]

[whumpshots]

Whump Snippet Saturday #21

"Are you hurt? Whose blood is that?", whumpee asks, panicking and eyes widened. Trembling hands start searching for the cause of all that blood on caretaker's shirt, but the other just tries to calm them down.

"I am not injured. Whumpee ... Kid, just listen. I am not injured," caretaker insists and cups their face between their hands. Whumpee pulls their hands away and follows caretaker's worried eyes, finally seeing the real cause of all that blood.

"Oh," whumpee mutters when the pain finally catches up to their brain, the adrenaline of seeing caretaker now leaving their body. They hear caretaker talk to them, but are already losing consciousness.

[waywardwizzard]

Everything felt numb.

Wash wasn't exactly sure where he was, sounds and colours coming to him slowly, almost like they were glitching. Or drowning in water. Also, why was the water dripping down his chest red?

His lungs burned but he couldn't remember why anymore, the cold making his thoughts wander.

Why was it cold? Had he crashed Serenity again? Mal would kill him if he had.

Footsteps clattered up the stairs, loud despite the fog - or was it smoke? - curling around him, cold hands on his neck and near the burning hole (was it a hole if something was sticking out of it?) in his chest.

Simon's hands were never that cold. And where was Zoë?

"Honey?" There she was. "Relax for me ok? This is gonna hurt - "

What was - ?

Something shifted and the fire flared and spread through his chest. Was it his scream tearing through Serenity?

"Hang on, Wash. Don't die on us now."

What, Mal, so he could die later? That was nice to know.

The hiss of a hypo gun cut through the fire and sarcasm stoking in his chest, through the glitching water, everything starting to fade away and why were there Alliance medics staring down at him?

The last thing Wash felt before he drifted off was Zoë's warm hand clutching at his.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Author's note-

(Spoilers I guess?)

Wash's death in the movie killed me (heh) even though I knew it was going to happen. So, I decided that, like I do in most of my BDM centered fics, he doesn't die. Book also doesn't die because I want my found family to be whole ok?

Hope y'all enjoyed this one <3

@juneofdoom

[knights-in-whumperland]

Big Mouth (2022): Episode 8

[distinctlywhumpthing]

In League — A Lucky Blunder

Masterlist

Summary: The boys finally caught their rival gang's spy but something about him has their leader intervening in his punishment. Beta read by @alittlewhump!

CW: Late-19th century, explicit language, kidnapping/abduction, nudity (non-sexual), restraints, bruising from implied beating, whipping, scars, torture/interrogation, taunting of prisoner, multiple whumpers, dubious caretaker.

A high-pitched keening wound its way through the house. 

Wyatt paused, pencil hovering over his place in the row of numbers. It was early evening. Sunlight entered the window at a low angle to cast long shadows through yellow-orange light. The boys would be winding down from the day which meant they were winding up for the night.  

“Tommy?” He called for Frankie’s lad, the portrait of his ruddy-haired father in miniature. A child of about ten years who was always close at hand, ever-keen to make a farthing running errands. Especially if he could smugly tell younger boys later that he wasn’t at liberty to divulge the particulars. As though he was the rare child-confidant of the entire gang. He did have a fair pulse on what was going on, if a little slanted by the perspective of his youth.

Another cry, twisting all the way upstairs, most likely from the cellar two floors down. In the house—their house—not a thing could transpire unnoticed, such was the size and layout. Wyatt liked that. All was within reach and what one could hold in the palm of his hand, one could command. 

Although, his appreciation and pride were diminishing by the second as the cries continued and grew more insistent. He leaned back in his chair with a sigh and almost ran his fingers through his hair before he remembered they were smudged with graphite from doing the books. 

“Tommy!”

Finally, a clatter and then short, snappy strides as the child scrambled across the kitchen and up the stairs. “Yessir?” 

“What is that fucking noise?”

Tommy swallowed, trying to catch his breath. “They found that man. The one ‘tipped off Keats.” 

“Is that so?”

About a month ago, a beggar had shown up on their streets. He’d seen the man in question himself—more of a boy really, no more than twenty—huddled outside the door of the pub and shuffling around the streets covered in a ratty blanket. 

Around the same time, a number of plans had been mislaid. At first, it had seemed only as though they’d mismatched their timing. Until one night, when they’d had a raid planned on a warehouse, expecting just a few guards and found its owner—one of their biggest rivals—Keats, had two dozen waiting instead. 

It had nearly cost two boys their lives and one still had a bullet in his shoulder. They had pulled the usual threads, made sure to reassess the loyalties of certain parties. The beggar, on the other hand, was nowhere to be found. No one thought twice about an urchin disappearing. But then, a handful of days later, Jack’s sister had seen the very same accompanying none other than Keats himself. 

A short ten days later, here he was, apparently paying for his trickery in the cellar, having finally been apprehended. 

No one noticed Wyatt coming down the stairs. All backs were turned, including the one getting belted. Their captive was stark naked and covered in grime with patches of bruises darkening along his ribs. His wrists were tied together and hooked over his head so that he was forced onto the balls of his feet. From the looks of it, he’d managed to bear his due reward silently for a not-insignificant length of time. Raised welts crisscrossed from the back of his neck down to his calves. It was plain by the scars on his back that this was not his first beating. Not much of a distinguishing feature around these parts. 

Alfred was winding up for what would no doubt be the first lash that drew blood. The rest of the group surveyed from a loose half-circle, some sitting on overturned crates and others leaning against the soot-blackened walls. Wyatt hadn’t been down here in ages, couldn’t say what was in half of the cobwebbed crates stacked in the corners. The air in the cramped space was beginning to smell pungent, cigarette smoke clinging to the ceiling in spite of the open street-level windows. 

Wyatt put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall at the foot of the stairs. He waited until Alfred was about to strike. “What’d you find, lads?” 

At least one of the men jumped, a few others sat up just a fraction straighter. Alfred let the swing fall short. Only the tail end of the belt met its target, who hissed as another welt rose on his pale flesh. 

Wyatt wasn’t the oldest nor was he the longest-standing member. The group operated mostly by consensus but he was indisputably its leader. After all, he had been the one to rescue this house of cards from collapse before they had completely lost control. He’d recast the senior members into roles that didn’t require temperance and recruited younger men to fill the ranks instead. The younger the better, hungry to prove themselves and yet to develop the arrogance and pride that had prevented their predecessors from changing with the times. 

They had swiftly replaced brute force and standoffs in broad daylight in favour of subtler methods, refocusing on activities with higher turnovers that required a fraction of the effort and didn’t put them atop wanted lists. Half the city was still under the impression the gang had in fact collapsed and retreated back to the slums.

Alfred turned, face as red as the skin he’d just been beating raw. Either from the strength he was putting behind his arm or from feeling caught. He wasn’t the type to come up with the first idea himself but was always the first to volunteer to carry another’s. “It’s Keats’ spy.” 

“We finally caught up with him,” someone else chimed in, making a few others chuckle. 

Frankie sauntered over to clap the accused-spy on the shoulder, making him tense. “Just having some fun.” 

That earned a few laughs from the audience and the boy ducked his head as if to hide. 

Wyatt cleared his throat. “Come on, let us have a look.”

As Frankie made the captive turn on his toes, Wyatt was struck by two things. 

The first was the curious wound on the soft side of his hip, looking as though someone had inexplicably carved a piece of meat off him not long ago. 

Secondly, and more notably, Wyatt was struck by the fact that this was altogether a different boy.

Part II

Together/Apart taglist: @painsandconfusion @deluxewhump @no-whump-on-main @whumpy-writings @maracujatangerine @whumptakesthecake @subject-v @susiequaz12 @writer-reader-24 @whumpinthepot @wormwriting

[plasmodiumpyrexia]

Right now I just need a whumpee to shut the door, turn around and with their back against the door, sloooowly slide down until they dissolve into a puddle of tears and/or blood at the bottom

[stagelightwhump]

how would the factory deal with a human that dies/gets severely injured while "being repaired"? bc i assume repairs and such are designed for actual Units and not humans that wind up in the factory for whatever reason

Hi, thanks for the question!

To tell you the truth, humans do get injured while being repaired. All of them have Chips installed, many have their abdomens cut open, and a little less than half have to have their limbs replaced in order to fit a certain height requirement. However, these happen extremely quickly, within the span of only a few minutes, so there's very little time for the person to bleed out, get an infection, or go into shock, unless The Factory happens to be particularly swamped that day, in which case, it can take nearly an hour. In such cases, the opened areas are clamped off, and the person is injected with a sleep agent, so that the undue stress doesn't cause damage to the body.

As for pre-existing injuries, for example, sudden limb loss, it clamps off the injured area, finds a part that would fit the "broken Unit", and then repairs the "Unit" using said part, regardless of whether the injury had begun to scab over and heal already. After all, a Unit with all four limbs would sell much better, and be much more efficient, than a Unit with a missing part.

In regards to a person dying while being repaired... it's sad, certainly, but The Factory would try its best to fix the "broken Unit", replacing more and more parts, until the person either "comes back online", or it reaches the conclusion that it can't be revived. In the second scenario, The Factory would extract as much data as possible from the Chip it had installed first, and then it would prepare and remodel a blank Unit to match the "broken" one as closely as possible. The Chip would be installed directly into the blank Unit, and if it boots up? Then everything is just fine. It's all fine! The Unit can be sent back, or sold, and everything is fine. It's clearly fine.

But, on the off-chance that it does not boot up.... well, it's sad. But the data left behind on the Chip can be used to improve the reparation process for future "Units", and to help sell more Units, and that's all that the poor, "deactivated Unit" would want, right? Right.

[hithertoundreamtof23]

Whumptober 2023, day 1

Prompt- "how many fingers am I holding up?"

Canon divergence of Infinity War.

~~ Excerpt::

Stephen turned his head just in time to vomit on the ground.

“Are you kidding me right now?”

Stephen groaned again. Why was the room spinning?

That was a stupid question, Doctor Strange, renowned neurosurgeon.

Whumptober 2023 Masterlist

[syncopein3d]

Left Alone 14: His Eyes Have All The Seeming

Tropes/content warnings: M for mature themes overall. Tropes/content warnings: vampire whumpee/caretaker, male whumpee/caretaker, non-binary whumpee/caretaker, morbidity or thoughts of death. There will be a lot of play with, and discussion of, the concept of consent in this series, as it applies to many topics. Mostly we're talking about consent to be bitten, but being bitten in this universe varies from "mild discomfort" through "multiple climaxes" and I don't know where the story will end up yet, so I think it's important to be clear.

In this episode: possession by a spirit, bloody non-fatal injuries, vampire sun damage or sunburn, exhaustion, fainting/loss of consciousness from injuries, choking, threats of death, TW for Latin scholars who can tell how bad the translation is.

If you would like to be added to, or removed from, the tag list of this series, please let me know!

Part 13: Cabin

“Tolly. Tolly, hey.” Someone was shaking his shoulder, familiar heartbeat loud and excited in his ears. Tolly tried to ignore it for a while. His body felt made of lead, which meant it was still daylight. But the irritating voice did not stop, so at last he unzipped the sleeping bag and crept out from inside it and halfway out from under the covers.

“Arden, it is day. I trust this is important,” Tolly said. He leaned on his elbow as he regarded Arden, who now sat on the edge of his bed in the cabin instead of their own. Their hair was wildly disarranged, which he hoped meant they had at least gotten some sleep today. He couldn’t help noticing that even now they hadn’t said wake up, which would have compelled him to obey.

“It’s important. There’s letters carved around the ruby in Latin or something,” Arden said. “I can’t read them. Can you?”

They thrust their hand under his nose. Tolly caught at their wrist – warm, delectable, pulsing beneath his fingers – and looked at the ring, trying to focus on it. A faint burning on his face and shoulder drew his attention to the window. The room’s curtains were shut, but there was still a pale, painful glow around their edges. Even looking at it stung his eyes. He looked quickly back at the ring.

Around the edge of the ten-carat star ruby, words were incised, tiny and finely carved into the gold.

“Yes, it’s Latin,” Tolly said.

“What’s it say?” Arden said.

“Hold still. Hold still, Arden.” His entire upper body was starting to hurt. The sun could easily get through his cotton shirt. He could see the flesh of his own hand turning red as he read aloud. “Pactum faciam in nomine - ” He cut off abruptly, letting go of Arden as he jerked back under the covers and sheets into merciful darkness.

“Are you okay? I closed the curtains,” Arden said.

“It’s an instruction for forming a – hhh – a pact with a spirit,” Black Tolly said from the safety of shadow, trying to keep the pain out of his voice. Everything in contact with his upper body hurt. “But there’s no name to summon them by. Nicholas would have left a name.”

“Damn. Tolly? You looked - ”

“It doesn’t hurt. I’m already healing.” The pain in his skin was rapidly fading. He could feel his blood being spent on it, but he had fed well. It wasn’t a problem. It probably wouldn’t even grow his hair back out. But it still felt like trying to think through mud, like looking at the world through molasses. The blankets felt like iron weighing on his shoulders.

“We’ll talk of it tonight. The sun is too heavy, Arden.” He slumped, face in the crook of his arm, and not even Arden’s worried voice could keep him from black sleep now.

When he woke again, his mind was clear.  Night had fallen. Something warm lay across his right wrist – familiar pulse – Arden’s hand. He lifted the covers and found Arden asleep, their breathing shallow and regular and extremely close because they were lying across his bed. Tolly regarded them as he lay on his side.

This is good. If they care for me, they will treat me better than he did.

I don’t deserve that. Nicholas understood me better than they do.

What choice do I have?

As he moved, they stirred, blinking in the dark. “Tolly? Are you back?”

“I’m back,” he said.

Arden fumbled for the lamp, giving Tolly enough warning to shield his eyes until they adjusted. “Are you all right? You scared me a little.”

“If I’m not ashed and scattered, I am not truly dead.” He slid out, eellike, as Arden sat up. “Worry about your own health, not your monster’s. Did you eat today?”

“I finished the Soylent and had another bar,” Arden said. “And I went and got a burger at the Lodge restaurant.”

Black Tolly warred with himself about whether to scold Arden for leaving without him or be glad they were at least eating. Finally, he settled on, “Good. Drink another Soylent, please, and we will discuss the ring.” He ran his hands over his head as he straightened away from the bed, standing in front of the treacherous curtains. His hair was still too short to be easily disarranged.

“You said it had a summoning ritual on it, but no name,” Arden said. “You don’t know the name of the spirit that Nicholas got power from?”

“No. He never said. So, he can’t have expected you to learn it from me,” Tolly said. “It must be somewhere else on the ring.” He considered. “He wouldn’t imperil your life by forcing you to remove it.”

The two of them stared closely at the ring for a while. Arden tilted it slowly to and fro in the lamplight.

“There’s something inside,” he said. “Something’s carved on the back of the stone inside the setting. Can you see it? It’s only visible if you tilt the ring just right.”

“Give me your hand again.” Tolly tipped the hand and ring very slowly, eye almost touching it, until the light hit just right in the red depths and he saw…

“Letters,” he said, letting go. “There is more than one language, but one is in Carolingian Miniscule. As few people who now exist understand a script used to write the Vulgate in only the earlier part of the thirteenth century, I have to assume it is meant for me. Of the others, one is in runes I can’t read, one is in a later Latin script, and one is in English. These preceding three are each marked with a small cross.”

“So what’s the final name?” Arden asked.

“Aeolus. Perhaps it is intended to summon the spirit.” He couldn’t keep doubt from his tone. Tolly was well aware of his ignorance in these matters, an ignorance cultivated by long centuries of carefully avoiding people he knew could end him, and Nicholas had very deliberately done nothing to dispel that.

“And it’ll teach me to cast spells? To defend myself?” Arden said.

“I don’t know,” Tolly said. “He must have thought so. Perhaps it is a familiar he has used himself.”

“It can’t hurt to try, right?” Arden said. “Worst case is that nothing happens.”

“I think we have little choice,” Tolly said. “The Silencer team were not able to cast violent spells. I’ve never had to face someone who could.”

“All right.” Arden sat up straighter, wiping at their eyes to get the cobwebs out. “Read me the Latin.”

“Pactum faciam in nominee illius qui hunc anulum non praecipere potest,” Black Tolly said. He paused every few words to let Arden repeat after him. Then, when he had come to the end, he said, “Now the name.”

“Aeolus?” Arden said.

The two of them sat looking at each other for a moment, Arden with one foot off the bed braced on the floor, Tolly standing opposite them.

“So what’s supposed to happen?” Arden asked. Before Tolly could answer, he saw them twitch, grabbing at the cheap headboard behind them. “The – the fuck is happening - ? Who are you?” They were staring at something, as if someone stood to Tolly’s right. When he turned his head, he saw nothing. There was no sound or scent of another person in the room.

“There’s no one else here,” Tolly said.

“He’s gone,” Arden said. “I don’t - ” They jerked violently, as if yanked by invisible strings. Tolly would have sworn they lifted completely from the bed for a second. “No, wait. You can’t - ” Their eyes rolled up into their skull, only white showing. Tolly dove in and grabbed at their arms to stop their head bouncing back against the wall. For a moment he thought they might be seizing.

“Arden? Arden, can you hear me?”

The tremors stopped. After a moment the eyes rolled back down, and Arden blinked up at him slowly.

“I’m not Arden.”

Tolly was violently yanked backwards and slammed into the floor. He was stunned to realize he couldn’t move. All of his great strength couldn’t lift one finger from the carpet. It was like being crushed by a giant fist. If he had needed to breathe, it would have been very difficult to do so. His bones creaked and the floorboards creaked under him.

A face hovered into his view. Now it was smiling, and not in the shy small way he had seen Arden smile. The wide, slightly distorted grin didn’t look right. It didn’t move the eyes, and the eyes didn’t blink.

“Well, that was more effortful than it should’ve been,” said the possessing spirit. The voice was forced into a lower pitch, rougher than Arden’s normal tone. A thin trickle of blood ran from one nostril.

“Let them go. The body isn’t yours, Aeolus,” Tolly said.

“Obviously it is,” said Aeolus, through Arden’s mouth. “It’s still weak, but I’ll soon see to that. Thinking he could fight me for it. Ha. Yes, idiot, I can hear you in there screaming THEY. I don’t care. The body’s mine now, and so are you, until I see fit to throw you Outside.”

Tolly, listening to this monologue, had never ceased straining against his bonds. He knew immediately when they started to weaken.

“Stop struggling,” Aeolus said immediately, head snapping around to look down at him there on the cabin floor. Tolly froze out of pure reflex. “That’s better. You’re a prisoner of Nicholas’ little toy, aren’t you?” He held up the ring to look at it, sniffing back more blood from Arden’s nose. “I watched everything he did, you know. That’s part of the pact. But why be a passenger when you can drive?”

He walked Arden’s body over to stand straddling Tolly, looking down.

“His eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,” said Aeolus. “Nicholas quoted that a great many times, looking at you. I see why.”

It was at this point that Tolly came off the floor so fast that his movement could not be tracked with the naked eye. His hand closed around Arden’s throat as he spun, and then he slammed Aeolus back into the wall by the door. Their feet – his feet – their feet barely touched the ground, scrabbling to keep him from being choked to death as Arden’s hands clawed at Tolly’s wrist.

“Let me go,” hissed Aeolus.

Tolly slapped him.

He was careful. He could’ve taken Arden’s head off. But he had been out of his prison for long enough to have rebalanced himself to his own strength, to the habit of lifetimes. Arden’s head rocked to the side, a red mark rising on their cheekbone.

“I take it you don’t truly hear the words of the invocation. You certainly didn’t stop to read the inscription yourself,” Tolly said. “Pactum faciam in nominee illius qui hunc anulum non praecipere potest. And you, Aeolus, cannot command this ring.”

“Let me GO,” Aeolus demanded again. Black Tolly slapped him back the other way.

“Let me go, or I’ll tear you to pieces!”

“Why don’t you, then?” Tolly asked. Aeolus’ eyes rolled upward again, and Tolly felt a sensation like knives cutting at his flesh, but now when he braced himself the bruising force could not pry his fingers from Arden’s throat. It was an exquisite agony, wounds opened all over his body as if slit by many little knives, but he remained. And blood gushed from Arden’s nose. The eyes came back down, furious, old eyes in a young face.

“Arden’s body isn’t accustomed to your power yet, is it?” Black Tolly said. “You’ve already spent what they can channel. And now you can’t stop me from drinking you dry.”

“He – they say you’ve been ordered not to kill them!”

“And so I have. But, as you’ve pointed out, you’re not Arden,” Black Tolly said. He leaned closer, grinning brightly so that Aeolus could see his fangs slide out of their sheaths in his gums, growing to a length unnatural in a living human being. “And I can do whatever I like to YOU, Aeolus. So, mark me well. You can remain where you are, and I will consume you. I’ve been desperately craving this blood from the instant I first scented it. I can barely contain myself. And now you’ve made me bleed.

“Or you can fall back to where you belong, and teach them and give them power in trade for sharing their senses. That is the pact. As long as Arden is in control, I can do no harm to this body I hold. I suggest you make your mind up very quickly. My thirst grows every second.”

Black Tolly leaned in very deliberately, ignoring the weak attempts to pull his fingers away, and ran his rough tongue over the blood that covered Arden’s lips and chin. Aeolus could see his eyes glaze with the intense pleasure it gave him, his grip starting to tighten as the giddy frisson rolled through every one of his senses. For that instant, he didn’t feel the pain of his wounds at all. For that instant, every single thing he had suffered over the last few seconds had been more than worth it.

“All right, all right! Stop!” Tolly came back to himself to find Aeolus suddenly limp in his grip, features slack, eyes half-open. He let go at once, jerking back in terror. Had he killed Arden after all?

 But no, he could hear a pulse thundering in his ears when he had none. The body crumpled in a heap in front of him was alive.

Now he felt the pain.

Tolly swayed, looking down at himself. Blood soaked his clothes in oblong patches where his skin had been slit. He felt the sting where the open air touched the cuts in his face and hands. He bled slowly, and the narrow wounds were already trying to close, but he could feel the loss of strength where blood had been lost, where blood was being spent to heal. His mouth felt dry. He fought down panic at the memory of his shriveled flesh inside the secret room, at every swallow scraping his throat.

He bent to seize Arden and carry them to the bath, before he should bleed on the cabin’s carpet, and there he slumped into the tub with them lying against his chest. He could see blood running down the drain between his bare feet. Some of it soaked into one of Arden’s white socks with their worn-down heels.

The sensation of a living body draped over his dead one was intoxicating. He could feel every small pulse. And that pleasure would become more painful every instant that his thirst was not sated. His canines refused to draw back on their own.

“Wake up. Please, Arden,” he said, and now he could not keep the exhaustion from his voice. “I can’t – I can’t bear this. I need you here.”

Part 15: Glass of Water

@fleur-a-whump, @bitchaknso, @valravnthefrenchie, @thewhumpcaretaker

[whumpygifs]

Star-crossed lovers. Don't haunt me after you die.

[serickswrites]

The Taste of Your Lips

Warnings: poisoning, loss of consciousness, caretaker and whumpee

Caretaker sat with Whumpee on the couch, the two of them sharing a bottle of wine. It was very rare for the two of them to be able to relax like this. It was nice. Whumpee nuzzled closer into Caretaker’s neck. 

“Soft,” they murmured quietly. “So, soft.”

Caretaker wrapped an arm around Whumpee and squeezed. “Only for you.”

Whumpee laughed and drained their glass and pour another. “Want some more, Caretaker?”

Caretaker eyed their still mostly full glass. “I’m good. You keep enjoying it though.” Whumpee was now on their third glass. “You rarely get to relax like this, Whumpee.”

Whump took another big sip and settled back against Caretaker. “’S nice,” they slurred. “Y’r ‘ice, C’errrrr.” 

“Maybe you need to slow down just a bit,” Caretaker said with a smile as they tried to remember what Whumpee had eaten that day. They were liable to forget to feed themself if Caretaker didn’t prompt them repeatedly. Maybe they hadn’t prompted Whumpee enough today. 

“’M finnnnnee,” Whumpee said sleepily. They snuggled deeper into Caretaker’s arms and closed their eyes. 

Caretaker smiled down at Whumpee, glad to see Whumpee finally relaxing. Their phone buzzed on the table in front of them. They didn’t want to move and wake Whumpee. But they worried the phone buzzing would wake Whumpee and the moment would be lost. 

Leaning over carefully, Caretaker answered the ‘Unknown Caller’ call. “Hello?”

“Enjoying my present, Caretaker?” Whumper’s deep purr came over the line. 

“Whumper! What did you?”

“Whumpee didn’t say that the bottle was a gift? Shame. Both of you seemed to enjoy it so.”

Caretaker’s mouth ran dry. “I’m fine.”

“But is Whumpee? You have to drink quite a bit for it to become toxic, Caretaker.”

Caretaker looked down at Whumpee again, heart stopping as they realized Whumpee was barely breathing. They dropped the phone with Whumper’s laughter echoing in their ears as they tried to rouse Whumpee. 

[astaldis]

That will fill you with horror

Chapter 4/5 of “You’d be wise to beware”

Prompts: Asphyxiation, Surgery, Allergic reaction, Short of breath, Loss of consciousness, Vomiting, Field medicine, Wicked wings, Vicious venom, Puncture wound

Fandom: The Witcher

Characters: Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier, Cahir

Rating: Mature

“Geralt!” Jaskier and Cahir shout almost simultaneously, shocked to see their friend go down. The huge, winged beast must have got him somehow. They both run toward him as fast as they can. Hopefully, it is nothing serious, nothing a Witcher potion and perhaps the one or other bandage cannot fix.

Cahir is first to reach him. Lying supine, Geralt looks ghastly pale underneath all the blood, but his eyes are open and he is breathing. Good. Cahir kneels down by his comrade’s side.

“Geralt, what’s wrong?" he asks, scanning his friend’s body for visible injuries that might have caused his collapse. However, with all the monster blood on him, it is difficult to tell if he is injured and bleeding himself. As far as he can see, there are no obvious tears in his shirt or pants, or gaping wounds.

“Got me with its tail, left shoulder,” Geralt grunts through gritted teeth.

“Venom?”

Geralt grunts again. It sounds like a yes. Fuck. Cahir has a closer look at the beast. It is huge. Definitely bigger than the wyvern he killed just a few days ago. At first glance it looks quite similar to the black ornithosaur. A wide open, menacing maw full of sharp white, conical teeth in a narrow, triangular head, the purplish forked tongue lolling onto the blood-covered stone. It also has a long, snake-like neck and enormous, bat-like wings. But the wings’ membrane as well as the beast’s scales are of a very light, slate blue colour, not so much different from the surrounding rocks. They reflect the sunlight so strongly, the creature's contours are blurry and it is hardly possible to look at it for longer than a few moments without feeling blinded. Cahir blinks. The tail, what does its tail look like? He forces himself to glance at the dead monster again, squinting and shading his eyes with one hand. The tail does not end in the wyvern-typical trident but bears one single, stiletto-like sting protruding from a bulbous structure. A venom bladder? Like in the tail of a scorpion? Cahir has never seen anything like it in the books about dragons and other draconids. Is it something new that has arrived to the continent via the monoliths? Damn it. Hopefully, it is not lethal, at least not for a Witcher.

“Which potions do you need?” he asks Geralt. Of course, it is better to ingest the elixirs before a fight, but many can also be used as healing potions in case of an injury.

"Golden Oriole," the Witcher pants, "and Lion's Mane. In the holster."

Cahir has not studied Witcher potions as much as monsters since he is not a real Witcher and would die if he took any of them, but from what he knows about the requested potions, they make sense. Lion's Mane works as a general pain killer while Golden Oriole is an elixir used by Witchers and mages to both prevent and treat poisoning from many sources, such as corpse-venom from a graveir, common snake and spider venoms, the venom of wyverns, basilisks and of numerous other monsters. He scans through the several potions vials strapped to Geralt's thigh. The flask with the Golden Oriole is easy to recognise by the potion's golden colour. Another one filled with a whitish liquid sports a lion's head on the stopper. Must be the Lion's Mane. Cahir takes both vials out of the black leather holster and, while Jaskier supports Geralt's head, holds them to the Witcher's pale lips, one after the other. Grimacing, Geralt downs the content of the Lion's Mane and half of the Golden Oriole. Then he lies back down with a groan.

"I'll have a look at your shoulder now," Cahir warns and carefully turns his friend over a little. "Jaskier, hold him like this."

While the bard keeps Geralt in position, Cahir draws a dagger from his belt and cuts open his friend's blood-soaked shirt at the back of the left shoulder. There is a small puncture wound in the muscle directly below the glenohumeral joint. The tissue around it is puffy and irritated, however, besides this, the injury looks pretty harmless. Too bad it obviously is not, otherwise Geralt would not have dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Cahir pours the rest of the Golden Oriole over the wound. There is a sizzling sound and a yellowish vapour rises from the injured spot. Geralt moans, biting his lips. After only a minute, the wound looks much improved, though. It does not even need a bandage as the ugly hole in the skin has closed up almost completely. Gently, Jaskier lets Geralt slide back onto the rocky ground, breathing a sigh of relief. The potions seem to help. Not only has the wound healed surprisingly fast and nicely, but Geralt does not appear to be in as much pain as before. His jaws and fists are not clenched in agony anymore like when they found him. Still, something must be wrong. The white-haired Witcher is becoming increasingly short of breath and does not make any move to stand up. Not good.

“What else do we do?” Jaskier asks worriedly and takes his friend’s hand in his. It feels awfully cold and clammy. Fuck. Geralt does not look good at all despite the potions.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt rasps softly, struggling for air. He closes his eyes. “Should have - listened to you.”

“What are you talking about? Geralt?” Jaskier’s shakes his friend’s shoulder when he fails to react to the bard's question. “Geralt!” With effort, the Witcher opens his eyes again.

“Seems they do exist. Your monsters,” he gasps. “The flying drake—”

That will fill you with horror. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Continue reading on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47067388/chapters/118846387

@mediwhumpmay​ 

@whumpay​ 

@witchermonstermayhem​

[faofinn]

Day 14 - Loss of Consciousness

Part 1 | Part 2

@mediwhumpmay

It took a few minutes, pressed against Jess' side, but slowly and surely, things returned to normal. Asde, of course, from the pain in his wrist. He finally answered Harrison, or at least tried to before he interrupted. 

"It's just dislocated, right? You can just ket and manipulate, yeah? Just that?"

Harrison gently took Finn’s wirst in his fingers, and hissed quietly. "Shit, Finn. I'm not sure it's going to be as simple as that."

"Oh. More sedation?"

He shook his head, reaching for Finn’s other hand. "Here, feel this. It's fucked, mate. You've broken it."

"Oh."

"Let me check here,too." He murmured, skimming down his arm. "Ah, I think you've got a break here too, just on the ulnar. I can feel it under my fingers, Finn. You’re gonna need casting, minimum."

Finn groaned, frustrated. First Fao had seen him, fucked all his hard work up, and now this. He followed Harrison’s hands with his own and winced.

"That's definitely a break."

"Yeah, I told you." Harrison rocked back. "What do you want to do? We're gonna have to take you to somewhere."

"Fao’s already caught me tonight. I can't show up there, not like this." He groaned. "Have I got a…a bump? I guess, on the back of my head? I don’t feel great."

Jess gently ran her fingers through his hair. "No, nothing there. No blood either. Not just the shock?"

He shot her a look. "I just don't feel right."

Harrison hummed. "Let me call Steve, see what we want to do. Why don't you go sit on the sofa for a bit?"

"Seizure weird?" Jess asked, leading him through. "Fuzzy?"

He shook his head and stumbled, gripping onto Jess. "Fuck. No, I don’t know. I've not felt this before."

"That's okay. We'll keep you okay."

Harrison frowned as the pair walked away, dialling Steve. He knew his dad was at Fred’s, but he needed help. 

"Hey, Hars. Everything alright?" Steve answered relatively quickly, just pottering around the basement.

"Uh, not quite. Fao got involved. Finn’s broken his arm and wrist, and I don't know what to do."

"Ah. Well, that’s an inconvenience." He muttered. "You're not going to be able to come over either."

"No. Think we're going to have to go to George's."

"I don't know who's working tonight, so as long as you know what you're doing, you'll be fine."

"Finn’s not going to be impressed. He's already pissed."

"Yeah, not surprised. What's he going to do about the others?"

"God knows. Depends what Fao comes out with."

"Did he definitely see him?"

"Without a doubt. He - "

"Harrison!" Jess' shout interrupted the conversation. "I need your help!"

"Shit, think Finn’s seizing." Harrison rushed through, Steve still on speaker.

It wasn’t as Harrison expected, Finn stood up and trying to push Jess out of the way, not seizing on the floor. He frowned, watching him completely forget about the pain in his wrist.

"Talk to me, Jess."

"He went blank, thought he was going to go, but this isn't normal."

"No, doesn't look it. Finn? Finn, stop pushing jess and look at me, eh? Talk to me and use your words."

There was no response, or attempt to follow the instructions, and Harrison’s heart sank. "Steve?"

"Still here, what's happening?"

"Last week, Finn nearly went into the street, yeah? No recollection of it either."

"Yeah, possibly a focal onset impaired, but had hoped it was a one off. Can you video it? Send it in the chat?"

"I'll have to put the phone down."

"Not a problem. Call me after."

Harrison put the phone down, quickly turning to video it. Finn was still completely unaware, still fighting against Jess. There was a moment of recognition in his eyes, a slight frown to his expression, but that was gone faster than it had started. 

He gave a guttural groan, arms posturing as his back arched. His eyes rolled and Jess struggled to lower him before he started convulsing properly. 

He knew he needed the recording flr Steve, especially since he was still Finn’s neurologist, but the pair needed his help. He propped the phone up and moved to their side, helping to try keep him safe.

"Do you want to grab the midaz? Just in case?" Harrison asked, looking up to Jess. 

She nodded; it was easier for her to get up from the floor. "Sure thing."

He gave her a smile as she did so, returning his attention to Finn. Finn spasmed and twisted, smacking his arm against the floor. Harrison winced; he'd definitely heard something crack. As Finn’s arm jerked again, he managed to catch it, stopping it from hitting the hardwood floor.

"Think you’ve dislocated that wrist, eh? Let's just leave it at that, no more injuries." He murmured to Finn, chatting away to the unconscious man.

Jess reappeared quickly, motioning to the camera before she passed it. With a slight nod from Harrison, she knocked it off, returning to her boyfriend’s side. 

"He's fucked his wrist even more." Harrison said with a roll or his eyes. "At least we got it in video so we csn just say the break was from that."

Jess managed a tense laugh. "Small victories, eh?"

Thankfully for everyone, his seizure was short lived. He gave another groan as everything relaxed.

Once Fao had spoken to Fred (and kept from mostly throwing Finn under the bus) he was able to shower and speak with Ely. They spent some time together, Fao unwinding from the job and the stress. She always knew how to settle him, how to set his mind at rest. He’d not long gotten into bed when his phone pinged. 

He reached for it with a frown, and saw that it was in Finn’s chat. They kept it now, as a record of his seizures and how they changed. It was a video from Harrison, and his frown deepened. He swiped to open it, and carefully watched the video. He flinched as Finn’s arm smacked off of the wood, and something in his gut told him that the injury Harrison spoke about hadn’t been just from the seizure. The wrist hadn’t looked good before. His teeth sunk into his lip, and he quickly typed a reply, his anger at Harrison somewhat pushed aside out of concern for his brother. 

Fao [01:04]: Looks nasty. Are you coming in? I’ll set up a bay for him.

Steve [01:05]: That's a new one for him. He's going to have to go to the ED. He needs records for clinic. 

Fao sighed, worry twisting his stomach. 

Fao [01:05]: Are you sure? I can fudge the records if need be.

Steve [01:10]: It's a new seizure, you know the rules. He's got to go in. 

Fao [01:11]: Alright. Just trying to keep him happy, I know he’ll be pissed about having to go in. His wrist looks bad, should I see if Ollie’s in?

Hars [01:14]: Finn’s fine about going in. Think he's in that much pain with this arm. If you can see if Ollie's in, that would be great. Jess is going to come in with me.

Fao [01:14]: I’ll see what I can do. Unlucky to hurt his wrist from that seizure.

Hars [01:14]: That's seizures for you.

It took Fao a little while to get a reply from Ollie, but eventually his friend responded to say he’d be in in the morning, and that he hoped Finn was okay. Exhausted, and feeling pushed out yet again, Fao typed a quick reply to the group. 

Fao [01:43]: Ollie will be in in the morning, says he’ll happily r/v Finn then. You should tell Fred if Finn’s being admitted, he can have men on alert. I’m going to bed, update me when you can.

Jess [01:50]: Finn says he's fine. Thought you might have come over but he'll catch you in the morning. We're just waiting for x-ray results now. He's settled though. 

Fao hesitated as Jess’ message pinged through, guilt flaring. 

Fao [01:50]: Does he want me to come in?

Jess [01:55]: I'm sure he'll be fine. Get your rest.

She was too polite to say an outright no, Fao knew that. He set his phone down on the side with a heavy sigh, and rolled over, his arm over Ely’s waist. He breathed in the soft smell of her shampoo, the rose of her perfume that still clung to her despite the day. It hurt, being kicked out like that, when he knew people weren’t telling him the whole truth. And now he was worried about his brother, too. New seizures weren’t exactly reassuring. 

The little white lie of Finn being happy to attend ED wasn't the only one they'd spun. He did want Fao too, but not the one he'd seen at the job, not the one that didn't trust him any more. Jess was calm and stable, exactly what he needed. He'd been taken through rather fast, concerned about the seizures and the break in his arm. 

The x-ray hadn't been great; a wrist fracture and the break in his ulnar Hars had felt. On top of that, he'd managed to dislocate his elbow, which had definitely not happened at work. He was far from impressed, but the manipulation meant ket, and he wasn't going to complain at a forced nap. 

[knights-in-whumperland]

Kokdu: Season of Deity (2023): Episode 1

[wildrisen]

i need to make a compilation of weslie getting whumped because aaaauuguhhgdsggghfjs.

right now i'll just think about my favorite moments that he's taken hits

movie 1: he sacrifices himself to save his friends

movie 5: his leg is hurt after he falls... from the clouds

hf: he pretends to be sick (21); he hurts his hand after smacking his car (22)

movie 6: he's unconscious after saving the prince

mttnw: he's sick at the beginning of ep 57 :')

tld: his leg is injured after jonie accidentally crushes him against a tree (41?)

aits: his leg is injured after paddi accidentally pushes him over during a training session (52? idk) and he also attempts to keep the injury a secret which is :( augh

rat: his past self is freezing to death and his present self is fading away (40-42):

tiag: he's sick for basically the entire episode (33); he hurts his leg while defending his sister (18?); that arc at the end where he's unconscious and having nightmares

atdf: he gets trapped in that avalanche and practically almost dies lol; towards the end, he's trapped in that oxygen bubble and is slowly losing consciousness

dfv: infamous severe leg injury on court (49?)

ubtng: he and wolffy get stuck inside the freezer and nearly die (on his birthday, btw); everyone nearly dies in the cloud monster bubble

movie 8: ankle injury on court; wolffy punching him in the face

tgr; he's stuck in the prison with a power lock that causes him pain; general wangcai basically defeats him later and turns him into that power stone

tst; he gets heatstroke after blocking a fireball; throughout the season his shadow prince self is exorcised, but it's painful

msa; he's knocked unconscious during the earthquake at the beginning; an avalanche occurs on the snow island and he's stuck in it