#wound cleaning

[jordanstrophe]

Omg what I nice trope! For some reason I couldn’t find anything fresh abt with…

Would you mind writing a smaaall drabble/whatever you want for this trope? 🥺😭

[the trope in question] I was going to try and go smaaaall but then my hand slipped

CW: Medical whump, trauma, wound cleaning, hurt/comfort, recovery from torture

There was a look caretaker had never seen from whumpee before.

Mistrust

Fear

Agony...

"It's going to sting a bit, just take deep breaths" Caretaker said, shakily holding a antiseptic-drenched cloth.

Whumpee's eyes darted between caretaker and the cloth before letting out a breath. From that breath alone, you could tell just how much they were shaking.

"Try to lean your head back, please." Caretaker put their hand on whumpee's forehead and forced them to relax. It did rather little for how tense they were, and caretaker could feel it.

Blood from their leg started trickling down the bed. Time was growing short, and caretaker's hesitance was doing no one any good. They put a firm hand on whumpee's knee and pressed the cloth against the wound on their leg.

Somehow, it felt like -every muscle- in whumpee's body burned simultaneously.

"STOP!" Whumpee gasped, snapping up and clinging to caretaker's shoulders. "Caretaker stop- please stop," Whumpee heaved through gritted teeth.

"It's okay, It's okay... Hold on to me, everything is going to be alright... Ssshhh-" Caretaker soothed almost like a plea.

Whumpee acted as if they were being electrocuted. They could barely hold themselves still and were trying to curl their legs to their chest- specifically their wounded leg that felt like it was being slowly stabbed through all over again.

They could hear them- whumper's voice screaming at them, cursing them, laughing at them. The arm around them didn't feel like caretaker's, but whumper's.

"MAKE THEM STOP! Caretaker please, make them stop!" Whumpee suddenly cried, no longer able to hold anything behind a clenched jaw. Caretaker guided them back down onto the bed, finishing up what was left of the cleaning before dressing their injury.

Caretaker's chest was wracked with guilt, they pretended the tears on their face weren't there.

"It's almost o-over... You're okay, it's al-almost over, you're doing great," Caretaker repeated, feeling a ting of relief as the worst of it seemed to fade.

Whumpee let their leg relax with their knee over caretaker's elbow. Caretaker felt it and laid whumpee's leg down and brushed their hand over their hair.

''Are you back with me?" Caretaker asked, their other hand tracing over their face like they were scared to touch. Whumpee's eyes darted between unfocused, and fixated on caretaker. They stared blankly, before letting them close.

"Good... Rest is good." Caretaker huffed out of breath, adrenaline from their own body began to calm down and their hands started trembling.

Only then did they acknowledge their tears and dragged a hand down their face to wipe them away. They sank into a chair next to whumpee's bed and grasped their hand, the seemingly only safe thing to hold.

"You're going to be alright."

[aceofwhump]

Outlander 7x04 - William Ransom whump part 2

[befuddled-calico-whump]

and I start to struggle to hold myself back

from busting my head straight through the fucking glass

[little-peril-stories]

Febuwhump Day 12 - Semi-Conscious

From The Prince of Thieves:

It’s not fine. I’m no doctor—farthest thing from one—but even I know this is bad. “You want to lie down?”

“No.” He leans back against the wall. It can’t be comfortable with the other wounds pressed against the stone, but he doesn’t complain.

“It’s going to hurt.”

“I know.”

He is quieter than I expect while I wash out the shoulder wound. No cries of pain. The first time I glance at his face, his eyes are squeezed tightly closed, his jaw set. The next time, his eyes are open, but his gaze is distant. I wonder if he’s even really feeling it.

“Are you still with me?” I ask, letting my lank, unwashed hair fall in front of my face as I wring out the cloth. He nods, but he says nothing, and I know he’s not. Not really.

Hatchett would want me to take advantage of this moment. Ask for Fox’s name, see if he gives it. I keep the question to myself. Baden Hatchett thinks he knows me. He fucking doesn’t. I’m selfish, but not in the way he thinks.

[whumpster-dumpster]

Two words: wound irrigation.

👏👏👏👏

[squishablesunbeam]

The Palette Pt. 8: The Bath

Prev. Next

TW: bath time nudity, dehumanization, whumpee as an object, wound cleaning, scars

The palette swept its hands under the water, making little waves that lapped just under its chin. It was fully and completely warm, from the top of its head to the tips of its toes.

Master, or Mark, he's told the palette to call him Mark. Nothing about that felt right to the palette but it liked that way the name sounded.

"Mark," the palette whispered under its breath, its throat catching on the K. It smiled, dipping under the water until it almost reached its eyes. This master was so different than the palette's old master. The palette was trying to learn and adjust but none of the old routines and rules worked the same way as they did before. It was overwhelming and so confusing but, nice, in a way. This place felt, softer, somehow.

Mark had sat the palette down and explained that he wanted it to fully heal before he used the palette. It doesn't remember the last time it had been completely healed. Certainly before it came to be with its old master. Its flesh always held fresh cuts or deep bruises and it was always still able to be used. The palette didn't understand why it mattered, not when its back already had so many scars.

Master Mark explained that in order to heal quickly, he would need to put the palette in the bath. He talked the palette through every single step. It liked that very much. It might not be its old routine but at least there was some predictability to what was going to happen.

It listened very carefully to every word its master had said. The palette felt better about being cleaned if it knew the steps. Master had assured the palette that the bath wouldn't hurt very much but that he'd have to clean the cuts on its back and that might be more painful.

The palette had wanted to go back to its closet, to heal on its own like it was used to, but Master said that the bath was important.

So it did as it was told and, truly, the palette has never been so relieved to follow a direction before. Master, Mark, he wasn't trying to trick the palette. The water was so warm and the palette could barely stop its body from sinking down into its depths. It did hurt when its back first touched the water but the palette didn't think that meant its master had lied. He didn't know how much the palette's back hurt or that the water would sting so much that it stole it's breath away.

It was only for a minute. It felt better now. Nothing the palette couldn't handle.

The palette whooshed its hands under the water again and smiled. Master Mark had left the palette to soak while he went to get some kind of special soap. He must have meant turpentine. That was what you use to clean a palette. It let the anticipation of being cleaned roll through its body like tiny bits of electricity, all the way down to its fingertips.

It was okay.

If Master said it needed to be cleaned, there was nothing it could do.

The palette peeked out from the bath when it heard tapping sounds on the floor. One of the dogs was pattering into the bathroom, its huge body almost filling the doorway. It was the biggest one that its master owned. With long brown fur and big, floppy ears. It made the palette feel very small.

The palette pushed itself back as far into the corner of the bathtub as it could. None of the dogs had tried to bite the palette yet and Master said they were friendly. This one was so big though. He came right up to the edge of the tub, its breath hot on the palette's face.

Please don't hurt me.

A wet, rough tongue licked at the palette's shoulder and it flinched back, thumping loudly against the tub, splashing water against the sides. The palette squeezed it's eyes closed.

Be still. Be still.

"Hey! Bailey!"

The palette shot its eyes open at Master's sharp tone. But he wasn't mad at the palette. It didn't even think he was mad at the dog. Master gently pulled the big dog out of the bathroom, muttering for it to leave the palette alone and giving it a pat on the back.

The palette swallowed hard and sat up slowly, keeping its eyes firmly down. It knew it had made a lot of noise.

Master must have heard the palette.

Master just knelt down on the cold linoleum floor, grabbing up the little cup that was floating by the palette's feet.

"I'm sorry about Bailey. He wont hurt you. He's just curious. You can always tell him no."

The palette gasped. It would never! A palette never said no. It knew its place.

"Hey, it's okay. Did he scare you?"

It shook its head and curled its hands into tight fists under the water.

The palette suddenly felt like it was doing everything wrong. It was breaking all the rules. It had looked at its master. It had spoken to its master. It had made so much noise.

This wasn't right.

It was just a painter's palette.

It wanted to go back to the closet and let the darkness wipe away all the fear and confusion in this new place.

---

Something had happened. The look that came over the kid's face was different. He wasn't just confused anymore. He looked truly afraid.

Mark had barely gotten the boy fed and half bathed but maybe he was going too fast. The kid was hanging from the fucking ceiling, being used as a damn prop for some sadistic asshole, not 24 hours ago. He'd been sold. His entire life had been turned upside down.

This was going to take time.

Mark leaned to the side, trying to catch the boy's eye. He smiled softly when the kid actually let him.

"Hey there."

---

Why did the palette keep looking at Master?! Why did it feel safer in this place to go against everything it had ever been taught? It just wanted to please its master. It wanted to be kept. And this master seemed to like when the palette broke the rules. God, it was so confused. It wanted to be good.

The palette liked its master's smile. Mark's smile. It was warm and, hesitant sometimes, but never cruel. It never turned into the angry hardness that the palette thought must have been on its master's face back when he'd bought the palette.

Master smiled even wider when he caught the palette looking back at him. The palette felt its blood rush up to color its face and ducked its head down again. This wasn't right. But still, it couldn't help but smile back, just a little bit.

"You think we could wash your hair real quick?"

The palette wasn't sure how to go about that. It was only sometimes rinsed with water after it was scrubbed down with the turpentine and that was done with the freezing water from the hose.

The palette nodded its head and closed its eyes tight, waiting for the harsh spray of water to hit its face. It stiffened its shoulders when, instead, its head was gently tilted back and warm water was poured over its hair. Master held the palette right at the base of its neck. The palette's heart felt like it was going to leap right out of its chest. It leaned heavily into its master's hand and let him hold the palette in place. Exactly as he wanted it. That felt right.

Master Mark kept smoothing the palette's hair back, keeping the water out of its face. A cool, thick liquid was then squirted into its hair and Master massaged it in with his strong fingers.

The palette wanted to let its eyes roll into that back of its head with the sensation. It dropped its mouth open and felt its entire body just melt into the water.

Master laughed and the palette stiffened, jerked back up and opened its eyes.

"You're okay, sweetheart. Just relax," Master turned on the water and tapped the palette's forehead, encouraging it to lean back again. He poured clean, warm water through the palette's hair from the cup. Again and again.

It let itself be cleaned of all the filth it didn't even realize was covering its body. No wonder Master wanted to give it a bath. The water became a light brown and was soon whirling its way down the drain and replaced with more clean, clear water again.

The palette wasn't sure how long it was in the bath but it felt more clean than it ever though possible by the time Master was finished with it. He'd so gently washed the palette's back with the special soap. Not turpentine.

It's entire body felt like it was made of lead afterwards. It had prepared for so much pain, for Master's fingers to scrape and dig into the palette's broken skin to clean out the wounds. But it felt like nothing but a graze of its master's fingers and a dull ache. The palette leaned heavily against the coolness it found at the side of the tub.

Master pulled the plug to the tub and the palette absently watched the water twirl its way down the drain again. There was no paint staining the grate this time.

Its body felt too hot. Heavy and light at the same time. Master tapped the palette on the shoulder and it looked over to find he was holding a cup of water out to the palette.

"Take a drink before you get up. It'll keep you from getting too lightheaded."

How did Master know that the palette was getting dizzy? It licked its lips at the thought of the cool water and reached out for the cup. Master never fully let the cup go as the palette brought it to its lips and drank. It hummed happily as it drank down the entire cup. Master's hand was at the back of the palette's head again.

"More?"

It didn't even realize it had put it's hand over Master's hand that was holding the cup as it drank. It dropped its hand like it had been burned and lowered its eyes. The palette needed to be more careful. It had touched Master without being told.

So many rules were broken.

The hand at the back of its neck moved gently, Master's fingers pushing into the stiff muscles of the palette's neck.

"You're being really good. You've done nothing wrong, okay?"

The palette scrunched up its eyes. It had done everything wrong. Nothing made sense here.

"Are you ready to get up?"

The palette nodded once and Master's hands slipped under its arms and the palette was so easily lifted to its feet.

Its eyes opened again when a big, fluffy towel was wrapped around the palette's waist and another was pulled tight around its shoulders.

Its master's arm was a steady presence behind the palette and it couldn't help but lean against its master as they walked back to the warmth of the living room.

---

The boy was limp as an overcooked noodle. He laid him down on the couch and the kid went easily. He looked half asleep but it's eyes were open and waiting. He'd told him that after the bath, he would put some cream on the cuts on his back. The boy obviously did better with clear directions. It made sense. Mark didn't like not knowing what was expected of him either.

He sat down next to the boy's hip and put a hand at the center of his back.

"Okay, you ready for step two?"

The boy nodded but his hand curled into a tight fist and his entire body immediately started to shake.

"Hey?"

Mark leaned down, brushing the wet hair from the boy's forehead. He didn't feel too hot or clammy. His eye's weren't glassy but they were distant. He thought this was going to hurt.

There were no good options here. The wounds looked better after the bath but he couldn't let the kid go back to sleep without some ointment and a dose of antibiotics. Mark still had a bottle from when he broke his leg a year ago. He wasn't exactly the best patient himself.

The sooner he got this over with, the sooner the boy could rest.

He grabbed the cream and popped open the lid, one hand never leaving the boy's back. Mark could only hope that it was comforting.

He carefully moved the towel that was over his shoulders out of the way and took a closer look at the ruin that was the kid's back.

The scars were deep. One layered over the other, over and over again. Sinclair seemed to favor one side, the right side. He'd cut this kid from his shoulder down to his hip. Mark's fingers itched to soothe the hurt that was no longer there. Those scars were healed.

Mark shook himself and got to work on what he could heal. Every muscle in the boy's body was coiled tight and shaking under Mark's fingers. He dabbed the cream onto the wounds, as gently as was humanly possible. There were about 6 long cuts to tend to. All in various stages of healing. The one that was bleeding when he first saw the kid was the worst right now. It was a little puffy around the edges and warmer than the rest of them. It likely needed stitches at one point but it would be pointless now, the sides of the wound already trying to mend itself together, all on their own.

The boy never stopped shaking. He put a bandage on the few that should be covered and put the towel back in place. Slipping off the couch, Mark carded his fingers in to the kid's hair. He waited until his eyes flicked up once.

"We're all done."

He covered the boy's tight fist with his hand.

"Are you okay?"

He didn't say a word but he looked right at Mark then and actually held his gaze.

"I'm so sorry," Mark whispered, his heart breaking into pieces as a tear slipped out of the corner of the kid's eye and soaked into the cushion of the couch.

Taglist: @whumpsday, @hold-him-down, @maracujatangerine, @pigeonwhumps, @boxboysandotherwhump, @darkthingshappen, @octopus-reactivated, @whumpzone, @unicornscotty, @melancholy-in-the-morning, @keep-beach-city-werid, @whumpthisway, @pumpkin-spice-whump,

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump , @onlybadendings, @canislycaon24, @joeywhumpsitup, @thebirdsofgay, @mylifeisonthebookshelf

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Don't know if I'm late. Hope I'm not late. But from your whump words ask game:

Needle, Bandages, Relax

Hi myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19! You're not late at all! Thanks for requesting this, here you go!

Whumpee wrapped the bandages around their torso. It wasn't the best job, but it would have to do. Their team was too busy to worry about Whumpee right now. Besides, the injury was just a scratch; Whumpee would be fine in a few days.

"Whumpee," Caretaker called, "Leader says dinner's here!"

"Coming!" Whumpee called back.

...

Whumpee winced with every step they took, but by the time they got to the kitchen, they had managed to stop making noises. A box of pizza lay open on the table, with Whumpee's team crowded around it.

"Sit down, Whumpee," Teammate 1 said, gesturing to Whumpee's chair.

Whumpee went to sit down, but fresh pain bloomed in their side. Whumpee couldn't help but yelp as they sat down.

"Whumpee?" Leader asked, brows furrowed.

"Yeah?" Whumpee winced.

Whumpee pulled their hand away, which had been gripping their side, and felt something warm and sticky. Whumpee's eyes widened as they saw the blood on their hand. Leader's eyes widened as well. They were at Whumpee's side in an instant.

"Medic, prep the med bay," Leader said, steadying Whumpee, "Caretaker, help me get them to the bed."

Whumpee's team sprang into action. Caretaker looped Whumpee's arm over their shoulders; Leader did the same. By the time Whumpee got to the med bay, they were practically being carried by Caretaker and Leader. Caretaker and Leader laid Whumpee down on the bed.

"H-hurts," Whumpee whimpered.

"You shouldn't have tried to hide it," Medic scolded, snapping on latex gloves and turning to Leader, "lift up their shirt."

Leader lifted Whumpee's shirt to reveal blood seeping through hastily wrapped bandages. Medic came over and quickly removed the bandages to reveal a gaping wound in their side.

"Whumpee," Leader said in a shocked whisper.

"'M sorry," Whumpee said weakly, "I didn't wanna bother you guys."

"Caretaker, open the top drawer and grab the syringe inside."

Caretaker nodded and opened the top drawer of the bedside table. They handed it to Medic.

"Try to relax, Whumpee," Medic said.

Medic pulled up Whumpee's sleeve and inserted the needle into their skin. They emptied the contents of the syringe into Whumpee's bloodstream.

"Wh-what was that?" Whumpee asked.

"Painkillers, you're gonna need them." Medic pulled out a bottle and cloth.

Caretaker held Whumpee's hand as Medic cleaned their wound. Thanks to the painkillers, Whumpee barely felt it. They also barely felt Medic sew the stitches in their side. Whumpee's eyes began to grow heavy.

"Wha's happening?" Whumpee asked.

"The medicine's gonna make you drowsy," Medic said, "take advantage of it."

Whumpee nodded slowly and let their eyes fall shut. They fell asleep surrounded by their team, who all vowed to make sure Whumpee didn't hide something like this from them again.

[whumpshots]

Whump Snippet Saturday #17

Caretaker grumbles as they walk inside the kitchen, putting their phone down on the table. Their eyes meet whumpee’s, who is still using those fucking frozen peas to cool the black eye, occasionally their knuckles, which they fucked up pretty badly.

“Sounds like you liked that call?”

“It was team leader. Had to inform them about what happened. Told me you are an idiot. I agreed.”

“You’re too kind, you know that?”

“Hm yeah. Now let me look at those knuckles, arite?”

Whumpee obliges and extents their hands in caretaker’s direction, who inspects them closely. It was a close call, but whumpee managed to get the both of them out of there almost unscathed. Considering the fact that the attacker was armed and they weren’t, it doesn’t look too bad.

“Need to clean them up a bit, hold on.” Caretaker leaves the room again and whumpee cools their bruise, looking up at the ceiling with a sigh. It doesn’t take long for the other to return, setting everything up until they start cleaning their scraped knuckles, muttering apologies whenever whumpee flinches because of the burning sensation.

Caretaker’s rough hands work incredibly tender and careful, making it as okay as possible for whumpee who already feels like they have been beaten up – oh wait, they were. The crisp white bandages around their hands contrast themselves to the bloodied flesh beneath them, visible only minutes ago.

“All set,” caretaker says and looks up, locking eyes with whumpee, who gives them a smirk. “Stop grinning, make sure to get some rest tonight, okay?”

[isamajor]

June of Doom : day 16 to 20

Another batch of whump drabbles inspired by @juneofdoom‘s prompts with the Skyrim custom followers ! :D

16 – Concussion / Hammer

The bandit chief swung his waharmmer with force. Lucifer blocked with his shield but the latter breaked into splinters under the shock. The Argonian tottered, watching with horror the hammer be risen again by the Nord. Now without a shield to protect him, the second hit landed on his helmet. A bone-jarring concussion reverberated through his skull, making violentely his teeths bang together, dazing his mind and clouding his vision. The grip on his sword loosened and the weapon fell on the ground. The radiant pain in his head made Lucifer stagger a few steps sideways before collapsing in the grass. (101)

•

17 - « Don't lie to me »

The wound on Gore's leg had been treated and his motor skills had improved greatly. However, a few days later, behind a fake playful smile and a quip between clenched teeth, pain hasn't left his gaze.

"Do you know how pale you look, right now? Are you okay ?" asked Auri.

"I'm fine Auri."

"Don't lie to me. You don't look like a person who is fine. You're awfully pale and sweaty. It's your leg, isn't it ?"

The Nord rolled his eyes in respense, not daring to admit his trouble, like a kid caught in the act.  (104)

•

18 - Fall

The icy path in the Velothi Mountains stretched before them, treacherous and slippery. Each step could lead to a fall and the group was carefully walking in silence, their breath forming a mist in the frigid air. Kaidan stepped on a frozen rock, and the misstep happened. Losing his balance from the top of his imposing build, he fell below, his body hit by the fir trees that adorned the hillside. His schout echoed in the mountain and to this cry answered the cries of all his friends, horrified at his fall. They could see him lying below, a dark figure in the pristine snow. (105)

•

19 - Wound Cleaning

Nebarra gritted his teeth as Taliesin poured the stinging liquid over his wound. The searing pain of the act made him curse and clench his fists. The smell of strong alcohold filled the air, mingling with the heavy scent of blood.

"It's a shame to waste such good alcohol in this way. You would have let me drink it, I would have forgotten my pain."

Taliesin carefully cleaned the deep gash that marked Nebarra's arm. With each pass of the soaked cloth, Nebarra flinched, his body instinctively tensing in discomfort. He glared at Taliesin, who replied with a jaded sigh. (102)

•

20 - “That’s going to be one hell of a scar.” / Scrape

Lydia stumbled as she narrowly avoided a bandit's swinging blade. The edge of the weapon scraped against her arm, leaving a trail of red in its wake, forcing her to drop her shield. Gritting her teeth, she refused to give up the fight.

"That’s going to be one hell of a scar.", Kaidan remarked.

Lydia glanced down at the scrape, her face set in determination. She wouldn't let a mere wound stop her. With a fierce battle cry "For Whiterun !", she launched herself at the bandits, determined to protect her Thane with her unwavering loyalty. (98)

[turnthetablesonthem]

Darkness Falls - 10

Warnings: panic attack, begging, past collar mention, panic attack, hurt/comfort.

Taglist: @purple-heart-x, @whumpwillow, @briars7, @shydragonrider, @whumpsday, @kira-the-whump-enthusiast, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @interdimensional-chaos @wolfeyedwitch, @elrys-creates

Note: Joey is a king

_______

Nemesis watched Slipknot shift in his sleep, mumbling something she couldn’t make out.

His fever didn’t seem to be coming down, which concerned her. She looked up as Joey entered.

“Why don’t you take a break, Nemo?” He asked quietly. “You’ve been here all night.”

“I don’t want to leave him alone.”

“I’ll sit with him. You take a break.”

Nemesis shrugged, standing up.

__________

Joey sat down on the chair, watching the feverish boy on the bed shudder and writhe, turning his head from side to side with a weak moan.

“Easy bud.” Joey said softly, gently placing his open palm on the younger man’s scalding forehead.

Slipknot whimpered, the sound so different from what he was used to from this once arrogant, dangerous Supervillain.

It was about ten minutes before Nemesis returned, holding a steaming bowl of instant noodles

“Not the healthiest choice.” Joey commented, earning an eye roll from the girl.  “Ah, how does your spine look today?” He asked. “Surely you must have seen it from rolling your eyes so hard.”

Nemesis huffed a laugh, and Joey smiled.

His amusement died as Slipknot squirmed under his hand with a distressed whine.

Joey looked down at the damaged skin of his neck, and grimaced.

“I’m going to have to bandage his neck. It’s not healing as well as I had hoped it would.

Nemesis nodded, understanding the implications.

Joey reached into the medical kit that he’d left next to the bed, grabbing disinfectant wipes, and a roll of bandages.

Joey braced himself, and gently began dabbing the raw, infected skin where the collar had been.

Immediately, Slipknot jerked back with a groan of protest.

“N-No, please.” He whimpered, fever-bright eyes fluttering open. “Please, I-I’ll behave, I-I don’t- d-don’t need to be c-collared a-again...” He whimpered. “P-please no...”

“Steady there, bud, no one is going to put a collar on you. I just need to get you cleaned up.”

“O-oh God, please don’t. Nononono, please.” He begged, confused and terrified.

“Calm down buddy, I know you’re scared, but please lie still for me.” Joey murmured, as Nemesis sat on the bed next to Slipknot.

The supervillain looked up at her with wide, pleading blue eyes.

“N-Nemesis, please, I can’t- don’t let him-”

“Ssssshhhh, it’s okay, Slipknot.” She said softly, resting her palm on his forehead. He closed his eyes, leaning into her hand.

“I need you to sit up for me, okay, bud?” With that, Joey helped pull him upright. The boy whimpered, slumping against Nemesis, lacking the strength to remain upright.

He flinched back with a weak cry as Joey began to bandage his neck, stuttering pleas spilling from his chapped lips.

Nemesis murmured something that Joey didn’t hear, rubbing her fingers through his sweaty hair.

Slipknot sobbed, squeezing his eyes shut as Joey fastened the bandage shut.

“It’s not a collar, Slipknot, here, look.” Nemesis murmured, reaching for remainder of the bandages.

She moved her hair aside, and began wrapping the bandages around her own neck, fastening it shut with on of the small safety pins in the medical kit.

Slipknot looked up at her with wide eyes, his breathing beginning to steady.

“There, see? It’s not going to hurt you. I promise.” She murmured.

_______

Nemesis waited until Slipknot was asleep before she turned to look at Joey.

“He trusts you.” Joey said again. “He trusts you not to hurt him. He doesn’t trust anyone else.”

“He still begs me.”

“For protection. Not for mercy. He trusts that you won’t hurt him.”

Nemesis nodded, brushing her fingers over Slipknot’s forehead. Even unconscious, he tilted his face towards the touch.

“You need to finish your noodles.” Joey said.

Nemesis was about to tease him, pointing out he’d said they were unhealthy, when she saw the concern in his eyes.

“You look worried.” She said, and he chuckled.

“It’s just a part of having kids.” Joey murmured, leaning forward, and kissing her temple. “You’re my daughter.” He whispered, and ruffled her hair.

[whumpinggrounds]

The Safest Place To Be

Previous   Next

CW: male whumpee, female whumper, big whumpee, little whumper, possessive whumper, creepy whumper, long term captivity, foot whump, wound cleaning

The caretaking act lasts almost two days. Liam lies in Delilah’s bed, and she changes the dressing on his foot about five times a day, wrapping it so tight each time that it cuts off the circulation, leaves his foot aching and tingling. He says nothing, grateful that given his “illness,” she’s content with his weakest smiles. She brings him glasses of water, and hot broth that’s so thin it’s almost clear. She lays cold or hot cloths on his forehead for no apparent reason and sits at the edge of his bedside and strokes his chest. She keeps herself incredibly busy doing almost nothing, while Liam lies in bed and tries to look like he’s suffering.

The days pass endlessly slowly, especially when Delilah has her hands on him.

Then, around day three, his adoring nurse gets bored. Liam blinks into consciousness and she’s sitting on the end of the bed.

“Darling? I think it’s time for you to start walking again.”

There’s nothing alarming in the sentence, but Liam still tenses. His body aches in response – he’s been so tense, for so long, that he’s almost constantly sore.

“That…that sounds good to me,” he agrees cautiously. Sitting up slowly, he peels back the covers, paranoid all the time about how quickly he’s moving, and whether he should pretend to be in pain. “Thank you for tending me, princess. I couldn’t have recovered without you.”

Beaming down at him, Delilah strokes his head, and Liam fights the urge to cringe. “I’m so pleased, darling. Shall we see how you walk?”

“Of course.” Liam dips his head and scoots to the edge of the bed. He sets his feet on the floor, and with a quick breath in, pushes himself to his feet.

The puncture in his foot hurts. It’s a bizarre pain, one that aches as well as stabs at him with hot needles of hurt. It’s not the worst he’s had, though, in Delilah’s hellish little cabin. He aims a shaky smile her way and hobbles across the floor.

Face alight, Delilah claps her hands together. “Wonderful! The flowers are finally blooming in the woods – there’s a place I want to show you, and now we can go!”

“Wait-” Liam’s voice catches on the word. The thought of wandering off into the woods, on a walk that’s god knows how long…

And she never gives him shoes. If she doesn’t give him shoes and something gets into that puncture, he’s probably done for. He can’t go. He just can’t. Liam swallows hard when he sees the displeasure on her face. “I-I’m sorry, princess, I don’t know if I’m ready for…for such a big, um, trip. Maybe we could stay close to home, today?”

Just let her give it up for today. Tomorrow, he can worry about tomorrow, but please, just let her work with him for today.

Eyes narrowing, Delilah regards him silently for far too long. So, she isn’t going to let him get away with this. “I thought you were healed.”

Her voice is flat and harsh, a whole different woman from the starry-eyed romantic of a few short minutes ago. “I-s-sweetheart, you’ve tended me so well, I, I am recovering…really fast! Just…I don’t feel ready to go outside yet.”

Liam winces internally as he hears the words. They’re too modern, not flowery enough. There’s no big appeal to romance, no references to historic lovers. Delilah’s blue eyes are cold as glaciers. “Of course, dear.” Her words are robotic. “If you’re so worried about your foot, let’s make sure you’re ready for tomorrow.”

Gulping, Liam holds himself steady. To back away now would be to seal his fate. “Princess, I’m not sure-”

“Lie down on the bed,” Delilah orders, and like the well-behaved pet that he is, Liam obeys. She leaves the room, and he lies there frozen, obedient as he always is, wondering once again why he’s lying there, letting her hurt him. No matter how often Delilah confronts him with it, the reality of his helplessness in the face of her games is always a vicious little mystery.

When she reenters the room, Delilah is holding supplies. There’s an unlabeled bottle of clear liquid and a hand towel. All business, she strips the bandages away from his foot while Liam tries, and mostly fails, to control his breathing.

“P-princess, what are you doing?”

When she looks up at him, her smile is mechanical. Something self-satisfied gleams in her eye. “If your wound is taking so long to heal, it’s probably infected. Most doctors now advise soap and water for cleaning, but this clearly will take something stronger.”

Eyes going huge, Liam sits halfway up, reaching out as if he can still her hand. “Wait!”

Then his foot is consumed in flames.

Even the nail going in didn’t hurt this bad. Liam falls back against the pillows, wailing. The burning goes so deep into him, like maybe it’ll crawl up his leg and take over his body. He’d swear he can feel his skin crackling, burning away under the acidic kiss of hydrogen peroxide. Blinking back tears, he sees Delilah, blurry, at the end of the bed. She’s smiling down at his writhing body.

Unwanted but unstoppable sobs build up in his throat. Liam is just barely choking them back when Delilah sits down next to him and tenderly takes his head in her arms. “Don’t worry, darling.” Her voice is rich with pleasure. “You’re safe now.”

Safe now. That’s what breaks him. Liam’s eyes squeeze shut so he doesn’t have to see her grin as the first sob leaves his lips.

@whumptober, @whumptober-archive, @stab-the-son-of-a, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @lonesome–hunter, @diyalogues, @deluxewhump, @hearse-song, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @whumpy-writings, @warm-my-whumpee-heart@brutal-nemesis​

[whumpflash]

"You're bleeding."

"Tell me something I don't know," Whumpee mutters, sitting still so that Caretaker can cut off their ragged shirt and get a better look. Having someone behind them, someone with a knife, makes their heart race, but they clench their jaw and remain motionless, telling themselves they trust this person, that Caretaker wouldn't hurt them.

It doesn't quell the feeling of unease.

They hear the soft shhtik of knife through fabric, hear Caretaker's soft gasp. They know what they're seeing. A jagged map of scar tissue covers the majority of their now-exposed back, far more saturated there than anywhere else on their body. Some of the marks are still healing, wounds that Whumpee can feel with every move they make.

"Whumpee..."

They shrug, ignoring the slight ripple of pain the gesture causes. "They made it clear pretty early on what would happen if I defied them," they say, trying to keep their tone lighthearted. They don't want to meet Caretaker's eyes. They're worried they'll break down if they do.

"As you can see, that never stopped me."

[a-series-of-whumpy-events]

This is the last piece of Gamble I have to upload! I’m doing this from a hotel room in Phoenix, so I really hope it posts okay. I’ve already started working on the next part of this story!

Warnings: aftercare, wound cleaning, field medicine

Taglist: @winedark-whump @whumpers-inc @pepperonyscience @redwingedwhump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @stab-the-son-of-a @caspia-writes @kim-poce @screechingqueenmentality @nine-tailed-whump @worstcasescenariolullaby @newbornwhumperfly @the-monarch-whumperfly

Gamble Part 4

Sir Myles felt rather like a hunter trying to approach a wounded animal. He doubted Jemmy would attack him, but he could bolt if Sir Myles moved too quickly. Or, worse, he could be so overwhelmed with terror that he couldn’t even register the kindness Sir Myles was determined to show him. Not for the first time, he wondered how many at Castle Drakehold had followed the example of their lord, and if any had shown compassion to Sir Robert’s young Squire. For many reasons, he had his doubts on the latter.

“Sir?” Will’s voice behind him. He felt the young man touch his shoulder. “Are you all right, sir? You’ve been staring at the door like it’ll run if you take your eyes off it.”

“It’s not the door I’m worried about,” Sir Myles answered, turning to face his servant. “How’s Jemmy?”

Will frowned, his eyes troubled. “Looked at me like I was going to eat him, sir. I did my best- just kept rambling on, you know, trying to make him see that I wasn’t going to hurt him, telling him that you and Lady Isabeau were good folk, all that sort of thing. I don’t think it worked, sir, he’s so afraid that I doubt he heard much of what I said, and maybe it just terrified him more. ‘Renzo might have better luck with him, sir, he knows how to calm frightened horses, so maybe it’ll work with a frightened boy-“

“Will,” Sir Myles cut in gently. “Breathe.”

Will’s face reddened. “Sorry, sir. Rambling on again, I was. I just- I’ve never had to deal with this before. You’re a good Knight, sir, you are. There’s never been any reason for someone to be so afraid of you. He wouldn’t even eat, sir. Wouldn’t even look at me. If he’s that afraid of me, I can’t imagine how he is with you.”

“Well, the reason Jemmy’s so afraid is because he’s not used to a good Knight,” Sir Myles replied. He sighed. “Well, no sense in beating about the bush, is there? I’ll see you in the morning, Will. I’d best go in and see if I can calm the lad down a little.”

Will nodded sharply, turning to go. “Tread carefully, sir. The smallest things can set him shaking like a leaf in a gale.”

Sir Myles took a deep breath, just like he had before going in to see Isabeau, and pushed open the door.

The first thing he noticed was that Will had made up a pallet for Jemmy by the fire, just as he’d been instructed, and piled blankets onto it.

The second thing he noticed was that Jemmy, at the creak of the door, shot up and onto his feet.

The third thing he noticed was that Jemmy nearly fell, his leg buckling under him.

“Jemmy!” Instinct won out over caution. He sprang to the boy’s side, steadying him. Jemmy gasped sharply.

“Sorry, lad. Sorry.” He frowned. “Are you hurt, Jemmy?”

“No, sir,” Jemmy answered quickly.

Sir Myles let the boy go, trying to decide how to proceed. He’s lying. He’s hurt in some way. But if I try to get him to tell me the truth, I’ll frighten him. He may even think I want to hurt him, too.

He reached up and ran a hand through his hair. “Jemmy, please tell me the truth. I saw you almost fall when you stood up. Are you hurt?”

“…yes, sir.”

“Where?”

“My back, sir.”

Oh, no. Sir Myles’ heart sank. “Jemmy, take off your shirt, please.”

Jemmy’s small shoulders seemed to fold in on themselves. The boy turned around and sank to his knees at the edge of the pallet, reaching up with shaking hands to pull his shirt over his head.

Mother of God, Sir Myles thought. He had been on the battlefield and had seen plenty of wounds. But rarely did he see injuries like this. Jemmy’s thin back looked as if some beast had clawed it to ribbons. The wounds varied from raised welts to half-healed marks.

“Jemmy, what happened?” he said aloud. He raised a hand and ran his fingers gently over the wounds. The welts burned hot under his touch.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Jemmy whispered.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for, lad. Just…why?”

“When…when Sir Robert was training yesterday afternoon. I’m…I was supposed to hold up the shield for him, so he could practice his strokes, and…and I dropped it.”

“You dropped his shield. And you received this as punishment.”

“Yes, sir. I-I’ll try not to drop yours.”

Sir Myles felt sick. A Knight’s shield- even a lightweight one- would be far too heavy for a boy this small and frail. Especially considering that Sir Robert had apparently used his young Squire as target practice. “I saw him strike you, in the arena. Why did he beat you if he had already done that?”

“I dropped his shield, sir. If he had been swinging his sword just then he might have killed me. I-I needed to learn to do better. Just a box on the ear wouldn’t…it wouldn’t have been enough, sir. I’m very stupid.”

Sir Myles’ heart knotted painfully at hearing the boy speak so disparagingly of himself. Those cruel words cut deep, I see. Aloud, he said, “Did Sir Robert beat you often?”

“Yes, sir. Almost…almost every day. But I can still take this, and I’ll try to take it quietly.” Jemmy drew in a shuddering breath, his voice shaking. “I-I’ll do better, sir. I’ll tell the truth next time. I-I know I deserve this for lying, sir, and I’ll never do it again, I promise-“

“Jemmy!” Sir Myles couldn’t hold back his near-shout, shocked at how drastically the boy had misunderstood his intentions.

Jemmy flinched, his arm coming up to shield his face from the blow he clearly expected. “I’m sorry!”

Oh, fire and brimstone, look at what you’ve done now, you great idiot. Sir Myles lowered his voice, trying to reclaim the ground he had just lost. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, lad. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout at you. I was just- Jemmy, why do you think I’m asking you all of these questions?”

“I-I don’t know, sir.” Jemmy lowered his arm, seeming to realize that Sir Myles didn’t intend to strike him. “I’m only supposed to answer when I’m asked.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Sir Myles told him. “I’m not- I’m not like Sir Robert, Jemmy. I’m not going to beat you, I only wanted your shirt off so I could see what he did to you and try to help.” He reached out and touched the welts again, gently. “This? This is wrong. Everything about the way he treated you is wrong. How in the name of all the saints is beating you supposed to make you a good Knight? Which is rather the point of being a Squire, unless Sir Robert neglected to mention that part.”

“He- he did mention it, sir,” Jemmy whispered. “He said that a Knight must be strong. I’m not strong, sir, I can’t even take it without crying out. I’ll try to, though. I-I promise.”

Has he heard a word I’ve said to him? Sir Myles bit down his frustration, knowing that Jemmy would read it as anger directed at him. Like as not he simply doesn’t understand. Maybe I’ve taken things too quickly. Instead of merely telling him that he’ll be treated better here, I should show him. That sounds right.

Criminy. I have no idea what I’m doing.

“Did Will leave some wine over there with the rest of it?” he asked, swiftly changing the subject. “I’d like to clean and bandage these welts before you go to sleep, and wine does a better job than water. It may sting some, but it’ll help them heal.”

“I-I’m not sure what he brought, sir.”

Sir Myles got up and went to check, finding a flagon of wine standing on the little table. “Ah, perfect.” He crouched down behind Jemmy again. “Now, before I start this, lad, I need to know- are you hurt anywhere else? Tell me the truth.”

“I- yes, sir, I think. But it’s only the ones on my back that actually hurt. The ones on my legs don’t hurt very much anymore. That was almost a week ago.”

Sir Myles sighed. Of course there’s more. How many ways did Sir Robert punish this boy? He didn’t ask why that had happened. “I’ll leave those be until tomorrow, then.”

A sharp black anger had begun to swell up in Sir Myles’ chest. He’d never dreamed of having to deal with something like this. He’d never known a Knight- sworn to protect the weak and to act chivalrously at all times- could be so cruel. And he had a terrible feeling that there had been other things done to Jemmy which he would find out about later. The scar on his face was evidence enough of that.

“All right, Jemmy. I’m going to start now. I’ll be as gentle as I can, but if you need me to stop, just tell me, all right?”

“Yes, sir.”

Medicine, thankfully, was something Sir Myles was relatively skilled at, even if his particular brand was on the rougher, field-medicine side. He understood how to care for someone’s injuries.

He didn’t understand how to help someone who thought he would cause more of them. I am in so far over my head.

It was the first night. Only the first night, and he had already made Jemmy think he would beat him. I made him take his shirt off right after he said he wasn’t hurt when he was. What else would he assume I was going to do? Why didn’t I explain from the beginning that I wanted to help?

Sir Myles worked carefully and quickly, sponging the wine into any open cuts and across the rest of the wounds. Jemmy was very still beneath his hands, hardly daring to breathe. Sir Myles could almost feel the terror dripping from him like the wine dripping down his back. The color of the liquid was rather unfortunate- the dark red looked a little too much like blood.

Is this what Sir Robert saw every time he hurt Jemmy? Did he feel any remorse at all?

And how, how do I help this poor boy?

———————————————————————

Read the previous part here!

[befuddled-calico-whump]

(option B won at 14-7 😃)

Help me continue the story by commenting your choice! The option with the most votes is the path we'll take :)

(previous) (next)

[veneataur]

Whumptober 18/31

prompt: let's break the ice

fandom: Star Wars

words: 490

tw: wound cleaning but nothing graphic

a/n: This again is a continuation of the last day, day 17. The link is here for that. The story starts on day 15.

General Kenobi is a stubborn man, but Kix thinks he might have met his match in Commander Tano. Following their rescue from the prison complex, both had been residents of his infirmary. He’d released the Commander, though, after a couple of days of treatment and observation. The General, however, was still on a cocktail of powerful antibiotics to try to clear him of the infection that was ravaging his whip marks. It was compounded by pneumonia that had settled in his lungs, malnutrition, and the man’s own stubbornness.

Kix wishes it had just been some broken bones. Then it’d be a trip in the bacta tank, a little bit of physical therapy, and the General would be on his way. The deep infection took bacta treatment off the table. Not even now could he put bacta-infused bandages on the wounds to speed up healing. At least they were down to just a few rounds of wound cleaning a day.

Kenobi gasps when Kix starts working on a particularly deep cut. Kix keeps an ear out for further problems but doesn’t stop working. He also steadfastly ignores the glare he gets from Commander Tano. She’d had the option to leave but refused. According to what General Skywalker said Kenobi took the punishment for her. He’d found her holding onto Kenobi as he was struggling to breathe.

“Steady breaths, Master,” Tano says. She’s got a hold of one of his hands, the one without the IV. Kenobi’s breathing was shaking and shallow. He was on supplemental oxygen but having to lie on his chest during the cleaning and still fighting off pneumonia put a strain on his ability to breathe without issues.

Kix keeps working, forcing himself to remain careful and methodical despite the increasing gasps and quickened breathing. This infection has proved stubborn and as much as he’d like to stop to give his patient a break, he knows that Kenobi would rather he just get it done.

Then he hits a spot, one that he doesn’t think is particularly bad but Kenobi jolts and cries out. He instinctively pulls away from Kix, rasps turning into painful, wet coughs. Tano almost moves faster than Kix in getting Kenobi turned over. She settles in behind him, carefully pulling him against her chest as he coughs. Kix changes out the nasal cannula for a mask and checks Kenobi’s vitals.

Kenobi’s cough grows weaker, and Kix can see him leaning more into Tano. They’re on top of the pneumonia, but it’s going to take some time for his lungs to heal.

Tano starts talking to him, saying something quietly in his ear. Kix can’t quite make out what she’s saying but it seems to cause a bit of a stirring in Kenobi from his struggle to breathe. Kix sees him reaching a shaky hand out towards Tano, finding one of her hands where it’s helping to support him and giving it a light squeeze.

[enigma-the-mysterious]

My next fic should be titled "I now know too much about mechanical debridement of wounds and I am going to make it everybody's problem."