pwbff-blog

[seasaltandcopper]

vampire hunter AU Pt 2

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Summary: Mal is handed over to Teddy by the vampire hunters.

(This one got longer than I expected, and is still mostly set up for the story and dynamics, but it's also chock full of whump, so I feel like I'm splitting the difference.)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Profanity, mentions of torture, blood and gore, violence, manhandling, nonsexual nudity, imprisonment, starvation, dehumanization, ‘it’ as a pronoun (only used by one character)

“Mal.”

One word. One name. It dropped from the hunter’s lips and snagged Mal’s attention like a fishhook through the gut. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard someone say his real name out loud.

Years, probably.

And now it spat from the mouth of this woman, this hunter, like a curse. Like some personal ax she had to grind with him.

Like she knew him.

Stiffly, Mal raised his head enough to get a better look at her. Short. Subtly curvy, but muscular. Dark skin, deep brown eyes, well-kept hair, all leather and denim and piercings with an attitude to match. The ensemble practically screamed, pick a fight with me and see what happens.

Teddy smelled like clean sweat, gun oil, and the intoxicating vibrancy of blood flowing through her veins. Life. Food.

God, he was starving. He was so fucking hungry it hurt. More than hurt. Hurt was a broken arm, a knife digging between his ribs, the burn of a cigarette put out on the arch of his foot—this was closer to losing a piece of his soul. Feeling it shredded and screaming in agony without relief.

Mal swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth before he choked on it, and tried to ignore the twisting in his gut as the smell of them permeated the cramped space. He held Teddy's gaze, sunken eyes peering out through a mess of filthy hair, but the flash of recognition he hoped for never came. She stayed unfamiliar. A stranger.

But one who obviously thought she knew him.

“Today’s your lucky day, bloodsucker,” she said, eyes flint-hard and sharp enough to cut. “You’re coming home with me.”

What?

Mal blinked. It took longer than it should have for reason to catch up and plunge icy fingers past the fog of exhaustion and pain. He’d expected—well, more of the usual. Another guest looking to blow off some steam, or getting “justice” for someone Mal had likely never laid eyes on in his life.

This wasn’t the first time the hunters had brought in a friend; honestly, the bleak-humored side of Mal was surprised they hadn’t thought to charge admission. Probably could’ve made a nice little profit on the side.

Still, the script stayed the same: they took him out to hurt him, and after they got tired or bored or felt they made their point, someone dragged Mal back to his box. Time passed, alone, in the dark—sometimes hours, sometimes days—before he was fed just enough blood to heal the worst of his wounds.

Then the cycle repeated.

Over and over and over. A horrific, never ending nightmare, but a familiar one.

Leaving with another human—no, a hunter, who knew his name, how did she know his name, who was she?—smashed every established pattern to pieces. Unease tangled like thorny brambles inside his rib cage, clawed at the back of his throat.

Mal couldn’t ask what the hell she meant; he couldn’t even open his mouth, muzzled like this. Cautiously, he glanced towards Brooks, hoping for some kind of clarification.

The hunter chuckled. Hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, and leaned back against the wall, smug as could be. The nasty glint in his eyes sent a cold tremor down Mal’s spine; he dropped his gaze back to his lap.

Brooks was one of the ones who’d taken a personal liking to Mal, early on. Back when they’d been uncommonly cruel in their attempts to wear him down, testing the limits of their creativity with techniques that still left Mal nauseous to think about.

If Mal’s heart had been capable of more than sluggish, off tempo beats, it would’ve raced.

“You got your own restraints for transport, or should I write up a slip for loaner gear?”

Reaching behind to unclip something from her belt, Teddy flashed a standard issue set of cuffs and a muzzle, then tossed it to him. “Here.”

Brooks snagged the gear out of the air. Stepped away from the wall with a sigh. Tensing, Mal pulled in a shallow breath through his nose, and watched Brooks out of the corner of his eye. The man’s black-polished boots crunched on the grit strewn floor.

The woman made a noise at the back of her throat. Derisive. “And hose him down or something before you bring him out. Smells like someone left roadkill in a hot van.”

Brooks snorted. A half-beat later, the toe of his shiny, black-polished boot slammed into Mal’s hip. It tore a pained exhale from him as he lurched to the side, the clatter of metal singing against brick. Catching himself on his forearm, Mal winced at the stripe of skin he lost for his trouble. Blood welled up in dark beads, staining the pale firebrick with more of the same.

Dead blood.

It wouldn’t satisfy like fresh, human blood would. It didn’t smell like anything at all. But the sight of it still tied Mal’s insides in knots as the instinct to feed spiked in response.

All his body understood was that it was starving, and that looked like blood, even if logic knew it was only a trick.

“Look, I don’t give a shit about the transfer order. Whatever. You want the vamp, you can have it. But we’re not runnin’ a grooming service. You want the thing washed and styled, do it on your own damn time.” Eyes still on the other hunter, Brooks tangled a gloved fist in Mal’s hair and hauled him upright. “Alright, shitsucker, let’s go. Up.”

Scrambling to get his legs under himself before Brooks left him with a bald patch, Mal twisted and choked on the words trapped in his throat. The sudden shift in gravity left his head spinning, limbs somehow both too stiff, and too wobbly to fully bear his weight.

Legs shaking, Mal planted his feet as best he could, but stayed on his feet. Barely. 

Just do it. Hurry up and get it over with, I can’t—

Brooks came to the same conclusion a second later. He hissed an irritated sigh, and released his grip on Mal's hair. Unsupported, Mal sagged on his feet, brows pinched in a pained grimace.

“Lazy motherfucker,” Brooks muttered. “Told you. Give ‘em an inch…”

Yeah, and I'd tear your throat out, you fucking bastard.

Strong fingers dug into Mal’s arm as Brooks worked to unlock the manacles. Heavy iron clattered to the bricks. Then again, as Brooks stooped and did the same for Mal’s ankles.

Without the added weight, Mal felt marginally steadier on his feet. And uncomfortably naked.

Gingerly, he ghosted bony fingers over the red, raw patches of skin circling his wrists. Black humor bubbled in Mal’s chest, and he swallowed back a laugh. Now he felt naked—without the extra pounds of iron weighing him down—but not because he hadn’t worn clothes in years.

On his list of priorities, Mal's desire for pants had dropped depressingly low over the years.

At least when Brooks cuffed him again, arms behind this time, he left Mal’s ankles unshackled. The muzzle went last, and a part of Mal hated himself for the way he tilted his head without prompting, obediently offering Brooks better access to the buckles; the rest of him didn’t give a shit, as long as it got the fucking thing off faster.

Brooks tugged it, giving the muzzle a disgusted look as no small amount of crusted gunk and scabbed tissue pulled free too. Mal barely noticed. After days suffocating in the thing, he was just glad to have it off.

He sighed. Worked his jaw, and held back a groan as sore muscles twinged all the way down his neck. Dried bits of filth Mal definitely did not want to identify crumbled loose with the movement. More of it itched under his nose and around his mouth, but the worst still matted the scruffy mess of facial hair stubbornly clinging to his jaw.

Even when they deigned to leave the muzzle off, there was only so much grooming he could do without access to water or rags or full use of his hands.

At some point Mal just gave up trying.

Gloved fingers snagged his chin, pulling Mal from his thoughts. He flinched. Not enough to pull loose—even reacting blindly Mal was smarter than that—but enough to earn an amused snort.

“Maybe it could use a hose down,” Brooks muttered. He ghosted a leather-clad thumb over Mal’s chin, squinting. “Ehh.” Then shrugged, wiped his finger clean on Mal’s shoulder, and lifted the replacement muzzle to fit in place.

Mal shivered as worn leather kissed his skin again. It sat overlapping some of the bleeding lines chafed by the old one, bright stinging pain sinking into a deeper, throbbing burn as Brooks cinched the straps tight.

At least this one was purely to prevent accidental bites—just a simple, boxy wire guard and leather straps—not like the ones Mal was used to, meant to completely immobilize the jaw.

He could still open his mouth. Take a real, full breath. Run his tongue over the outside of his teeth, or lick his lips. Talk.

This was fine. Mal could deal with this. This was—better.

After double checking his handiwork, Brooks laid a heavy palm on the back of Mal’s neck. He tensed, visceral disgust tingling down his back and making his skin crawl. Touch didn’t carry many pleasant connotations these days, but being touched by Brooks left Mal feeling genuinely sick.

The hunter squeezed once, pinching with his index finger and thumb. A warning.

“Let’s go,” Brooks ordered. “Move.”

Gentle pressure turned to a vice grip, and Mal hissed. His entire body was an ugly patchwork of marks—welts, burns, the scabbed over remnants of a recent caning, bruises layered on bruises; and his neck was no exception.

Brooks’ fingers molded themselves to older blue-green imprints, pressing hard. A sharp boot-tap to the knobby part of Mal’s ankle followed, and he cringed at the pathetic, wounded-animal sound that rose in his throat. Lurching forward, he struggled to stay on his feet and limp along at Brooks’ pace.

“I’m—trying,” Mal rasped, frustrated. He tripped again on the lip of the kiln. Would’ve fallen if Brooks hadn’t literally had him by the scruff. Shit.

The world pitched. Dark spots burst across Mal’s vision.

“Quiet.”

Fuck you.

Teddy followed silently, a dark smudge in the corner of Mal’s vision as Brooks manhandled him out of the room. Up one flight of concrete stairs. And another. Past the living quarters, and then into a part of the compound Mal only remembered seeing once: a pair of heavy steel doors that led outside.

Out, to the wide, open world and a night sky Mal hadn’t laid eyes on in years. He didn’t notice he was shaking until they stopped. Blinking rapidly, his vision strobed. He felt light, fuzzed at the edges, like he was about to pass out.

The pressure vanished from the back of his neck. Replacing it, a hand curled around his upper arm. Skin to bare skin. Warm skin, and slender, strong fingers. Though Teddy's hands were smaller than Brooks’, one of them still managed to encircle the entire circumference of Mal’s bicep.

There just wasn’t anything there anymore.

Side by side, Mal figured he stood a good five or six inches taller than her, but she probably weighed more. She sure as hell could’ve picked him up if she felt inclined.

“I got it from here,” she said, to Brooks.

A nod. “Sure. An’ listen, you change your mind, you can always drop it back off. Teddy, right? No questions asked.”

“Mm.”

“Yeah, alright,” Brooks said. “You got my number if you need anything—” A pointed pause. “Y’know, anything—handlin’ advice, someone to share a drink with…”

Grimacing, Teddy shot Brooks a look that would’ve vaporized a weaker man on the spot. “Yeah,” she drawled. “I got it.”

Raising his hands in mock surrender, Brooks took the hint. “Alright, alright, Jesus.”

Eyes the color of dark amber settled on Mal’s face, and this time he visibly grimaced at the attention. Swallowing hard, he tried unsuccessfully to push back against rising anxiety as Teddy addressed him directly.

“You try anything and I’ll break both your legs, and drag you the rest of the way to the truck by your hair. Got it?” He nodded.

Yeah. Mal got it. And his tentative hopes for ending up somewhere even marginally better than here dwindled by the second.

Warm, sweet smelling night air folded around them as they stepped outside. Grumbling to himself, Brooks turned and vanished into the compound without a word, not even sparing a glance back.

He’d probably agonized more over tossing out an old pair of boots. Or getting shot down by a cute hunter.

With a sharp bang, the doors pulled closed behind them. Sighing, Teddy tightened her grip. Something Mal couldn’t identify flickered across her face. Disgust? Anger? Whatever it was, Mal blinked and it was gone.

“C’mon. I wanna beat the sunrise home.”

AN: Annnnnd we're about to start really getting into the meat of it. I actually planned for more to happen in this chapter and had to shove that in the next one, and this still ended up 3x longer

Next chapter we get to meet Will, the other half of the hunter duo

Taglist: @whumpsday @writereleaserepeat @thecyrulik @lookbluesoup

[necrotic-nephilim]

au - tim sneaking out of jason's room one night at the manor and accidentally locking eyes with dick who is sneaking out of bruce's room at the exact same time, breakfast is very awkward the next morning

(i did think of having it be jason instead of tim but honestly jason has 0 shame and even less issue outing himself if it means fucking with bruce and, to a lesser extent, dick)

i'm cackling I love these types of things so much. they're so silly. sometimes we deserve mindless crack for these ships. have a *very* low effort ficlet bc this just makes me snort, enjoy <3

Dick closed Bruce's door as quietly as he could. Usually, he didn't have to sneak around when he slept with Bruce. But the temporary room Bruce had given Jason in the manor was just down the hall, and Dick didn't feel like looking Jason in the eye if he walked out of Bruce's bedroom in the morning at the wrong time.

Just because he was pretty sure Jason knew, didn't mean he needed confirmation and confrontation.

Dick had almost caved to staying in bed with Bruce when Bruce tried to pull him back down, but he kept some level of wits about him, prying Bruce's arm off of him and giving him a final kiss on the cheek before heading for the door.

The one thing Dick did allow himself, though, was wearing one of Bruce's shirts instead of his own. It was a size too large on him but smelled safe and comforting. Dick breathed a quiet sigh of relief when the door latched silently. He let go of the handle, turning around to creep off to his own bedroom in another wing.

And found himself staring at another figure.

With all of the lights off and only faint moonlight streaming through the windows, Dick couldn't tell who it was, at first. His reaction was embarrassing no matter who it was, jumping nearly a foot backward and clutching a hand over his chest.

He was a goddamn vigilante. This was just embarrassing.

The other person wasn't nearly as shocked as Dick, but they stood perfectly still, staring with wide eyes that faintly reflected what little light illuminated their face. Dick squinted, leaning forward to see who it was.

"Tim?" Dick hissed, trying to keep his voice to a whisper. Bruce had fallen asleep and if Dick woke him up now, he was never going to get the stubborn bastard back to bed.

Tim, still looking like a deer in headlights, just blinked at Dick.

"What are you doing up this late?" Dick asked. They'd all agreed to take tonight's patrol off, letting Babs, Helena, Dinah, and Zinda handle it in exchange for tackling the massive human trafficking ring in the morning with fresh eyes and cleared heads. The job was the only thing that had gotten Jason to agree to work with them in the first place. Bruce barely managed to strong-arm Jason into sleeping in the manor, with a decent amount of guilting from Alfred.

Jason, who was in the room only a few feet away from Dick. The room that Tim's hand was resting on the doorknob of.

"That's Jason's room," Dick said slowly.

Tim just nodded. "I know." He wasn't whispering like Dick was, but his tone remained impossible to read.

He just saw Dick walk out of Bruce's room. Had he put it together? It was Tim, after all. if he hadn't yet, Dick assumed he only had a couple minutes before it dawned on Tim.

"What were you doing in Jason's room?" Dick frowned. If he focused on Tim, it could keep the focus off of him for as long as possible. Dick tried to ignore how fast his heart was beating.

Tim's expression was hard to make out in the dark. "We were talking about the case." Still, his tone remained entirely neutral.

Too neutral, for Tim.

"At two am?"

"Well, what were you doing?" Tim huffed slightly when he said it, folding his arms over his chest.

He was shirtless, Dick just realized.

Shirtless and coming out of Jason's room.

"I was-" Dick stumbled over his words, choking as he tried to come up with an alibi. "We were talking about the-"

"I already used that excuse, pick your own," Tim deadpanned. Dick was pretty sure he also rolled his eyes. "I've known about you and Bruce for years, you know. You don't have to pretend."

The noise that came out of Dick's throat was almost as mortifying as the realization that not only did Jason likely know, but so did Tim.

"It... okay it has not been years," Dick's face was hot and he was glad it was too dark for Tim to see his blush. "I mean- it's been a while but not years-"

"Whatever you say." Tim shrugged, sounding unconvinced. "There have been feelings between you two for years, close enough for me."

If Dick died, right here, in this hallway in front of Bruce's door, he hoped the cause of death would be put down as homicide instead of natural causes. Because every word from Tim's mouth made another piece of Dick die inside, just a little.

"It's none of your business either way." Dick tried to stand up straight to sound more in control of the situation, clearing his throat.

"Trust me, I don't want it to be my business."

Dick would've laughed, if this was happening to anyone but him.

"What about... you and Jason?" Dick asked carefully.

Tim shifted on his feet. "What about it? I told you, we were talking about the case."

"Right." It was Dick's turn to roll his eyes. "In his bedroom, at two am, without your shirt?"

Tim stared at Dick for a long, torturous moment. A moment that made Dick agree with Tim, about not wanting to know any sordid details.

"I'm going to bed," Tim said suddenly, turning away from Dick. "Goodnight."

Dick had a thousand more questions he wanted to ask. How Tim and Jason even got together, when it happened. Last Dick knew, they could barely stand to be in the same room.

But Tim was walking away at an alarmingly brisk pace and Dick just sighed. He was too tired and mortified about his own secrets to chase Tim down for an impromptu interrogation that would just end up embarrassing them both more.

Maybe it was best for Dick's sanity if he didn't know the specifics.

Dick didn't consider how awkward it would be until he was standing in the kitchen, staring at Jason bent over a cup of coffee.

Did Jason know Dick knew? It didn't seem like he did, but he had always had a good poker face.

When Tim ambled into the kitchen and grabbed overnight oats from the fridge, he didn't even look at Dick. He seemed to be pointedly avoiding it, sitting as far away from Dick as he could at the oversized dining room table.

All while Dick couldn't seem to stop staring.

"Your cereal is going to get soggy," Jason muttered, and it took Dick a moment to realize Jason was talking to him. "At least eat it before trying to explode my head with your mind, or whatever your staring problem is."

"I'm not-" Dick stuttered. he shut himself up with a mouthful of cereal when Cass gave him an odd look.

Would she be able to figure it out just from his body language?

Dick had never fully understood the lengths her ability to read people could go. he looked away from her and stared at a random spot on the table, trying to eat at a normal pace.

Bruce was the last to wander into the kitchen. He squeezed Dick's shoulder as he walked by, making Dick jump. It was an innocent enough touch that no one would question, but all Dick could think about was the brief look from Tim before he quickly averted his eyes again.

The silence around the table was going to eat Dick alive. He started eating cereal faster.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Jason broke the tension, throwing his head back and slamming an empty mug down onto the table. "Everyone knows you two are fucking, alright?" He gestured between Dick and Bruce. "Stop being so goddamn weird about it, you're acting like there's a bomb in the room."

Bruce choked on his coffee. "Jason." He tried to sound reprimanding, but his voice was a few octaves too high.

Dick threw his hands in the air. "I knew you knew about that, but I didn't know about you and Tim until last night so excuse me for feeling a little awkward."

"You didn't know about what?" Bruce nearly yelled, spinning around to face Jason.

"Damnit, Dick!" Tim groaned, putting his head in his hands.

Jason just scoffed, pointing a fork at Bruce. "Oh don't even give me that self-righteous bullshit-"

Their argument went back and forth while Tim just rubbed his temples, muttering to himself and glaring at Dick.

Worst of all, Dick was pretty sure Cass was giggling next to him under her covered mouth.

Dick just sighed and ducked his head, dutifully waiting for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

So much for his breakfast.

[vegaseatsass]

You know, these past two episodes I was thinking to myself, Su Yin is almost perfect in every way, simply the ideal devoted, protective, loyal, dedicated sworn brother, call him Da-ge indeed!!!, but my one piece of constructive criticism is that he needs to learn how to give real hugs - he does a lot of manful shoulder clasping, but Xiaobao is a shivering chihuahua desperately in need of cuddles and body heat, you gotta HUG THAT BOY - but now I see that Su Yin's hugs are simply reserved for his horrible little gremlin of an imperial cousinwife.

[wispurring-moss]

on my hands and knees begging that we'll get to know Husk's human name someday

[thewhumpcaretaker]

❤️ Whumpril IV - Swaying ❤️

Poems from the perspective of Caretaker.

Oh, will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you fall? The world all holds its breath to watch you sway. No, boys. A slow song’s coming on, that’s all. I won’t, I will not, watch him die this way.

May I cut in and steal this dance from Death? With my hand on your waist, yours ‘round my neck, with drumming, nervous hearts and halting breath, let me lead you, swaying, from this wreck.

[keeps-ache]

been telling my siblings 'you would NOT make it in vulcan academy' when they do smth goofy recently and nobody's been able to refute lol

[windfighter]

Hold the light

Prompt: ”I’m right here.”

----

Sun set. The world turned from dim to dark and Kouji stopped. Clenched his hands. He should have started heading home earlier. Should have taken a road where the street lights weren’t dead. Steps echoed next to him.

”...’niisan?”

”Yeah, I’m right here.”

Kouichi grabbed Kouji’s hand. Kouji flinched, then closed his own hand around Kouichi’s. He swallowed.

”This is the worst.”

”At least it’s not a stair this time”, Kouichi said with a laugh. ”Come on, just follow me.”

He tugged at Kouji’s hand, started walking. Pressed himself against Kouji’s side. Kouji noticed that Kouichi was trying to keep him away from the curb. It was good, Kouji really didn’t feel like breaking something again. He squeezed Kouichi’s hand and took a few careful steps. Terryfying. Walking in absolute darkness was the literal worst.

”I wish I could just”, Kouji lifted his free hand, ”snap my fingers and make light happen.”

”If only”, Kouichi laughed.

Kouji laughed as well. Snapped his fingers. Light flooded the street, Kouichi pulled away, eyes clenched, arms up to block the light. Kouji stared at the white sphere hovering above his hand like a miniature sun.

”Turn it off!” Kouichi yelled.

”I don’t know how to turn it off, you’re the one who controls darkness!”

”I don’t control darkness, I can just see in it!”

Kouichi pressed his hands against his face. Kouji stared in awe at the area closest to them. It was so clear. Not even daylight made colors that vibrant. Kouichi hissed.

”It burns.”

Kouji laughed.

”What are you, a vampire?”

He grabbed one of Kouichi’s hands, tugged at it.

”Come on, I’m right here, let me lead. Until we figure out how to turn this off.”

Kouichi held his other hand over his eyes, his face scrunched up in pain.

”Mama and dad are gonna be so freaked out by it”, he said.

”Yeah, we’ll cross that bridge when we get home”, Kouji said.

He tugged at Kouichi again, put himself between Kouichi and the curb and started leading the way home. Slow, steady steps to make sure Kouichi didn’t fall over his own feet. They reach another street, where the lights worked. Kouji’s fingers cramped and he clenched his hand.

There was a sizzle and darkness laid thick over them again. He let out a sigh.

”Well… at least we figured out how to turn it off.”

Kouichi opened his eyes, blinked a few times. He looked more at home with the sun gone, more comfortable. The streetlights provided just enough light for Kouji to see where he put his feet. He scratched the back of his head.

”Guess I need to update my powerset in the group chat.”

He laughed. Kouichi rolled his eyes and started walking. Kouji hurried after him and grabbed his hand.

”Don’t worry, ’niisan. I’m sure you’ll get a cool move someday too!”

”Yeah, probably”, Kouichi agreed. ”At least we don’t need to worry about you getting lost in the woods any longer.”

Kouji snorted. Being able to summon light would make a lot of things easier for him. And if he could use it to prank the others (and most importantly Kouichi) that was even better!

[aeide-thea]

still picking my way thru s3 of the witcher episode by agonizing episode but it's going SO slowly bc every time i watch one it's just like. right. this show is a B movie now and not in a good way

[nagy-bari]

again.

The kitchen, place to all if only ever exchange between them is once again faded into a soft light form the outside lamp and the overall quiet of the rest of the house. Most are asleep, as usual. The little table holds a shadowbound figure of an extremely tired woman absentmindedly swirling wine in her glass and lost in focus to the matte dull grayness around her. 

Vlad curses when he spots her sitting there while he reaches for his own cup of questionable amount of coffee. 

- Fo fuck you have to be like this. - she doesn’t stir from her slow movements and he mumbled it so maybe, he could just ignore it and leave. But that’s never the case. They have a routine, a bite and fight, a curse and tear and so on and so... He does a quick mental check up of the millions of ‘why’s for this night and realizes the date. june 4th. the agreement of Trianon.

Years ago she was livid this time around. Spit hellfire and venom even so much as seeing him, curse and throw stuff at him and scream, screech, shriek until her voice was gone. Not just at him if he was honest, at Francis, at Arthur, at Roderich, at Irina, at Jakub, at Drazen, at Ludwig, at anyone daring to even try and talk to her. Not that anyone was really understanding. Not that they really cared. She had a habit of being melodramatic and selfish and oh-so-better-than-thou.

And it was about a 100 years deal, life was moving on who cared anymore, they just wished she would shut up and care about her absolutely shitty reality in silence or far from them. She was loud and annoying all year around but this date brought out the never forgiving fury and it was just so over the top and needless everyone agreed to the silent treatment. Everyone who could stop the impulse or centuries old habit to just try to kick her a bit while down. Even if that meant that she would bounce up, with renewed anger and wrath and just storm it all to that one unlucky devil (him. some habits are hard to break)

Now the figure before his quick adjusting eyes is nowhere near close to the fire-breathing fury of horrid memories. Just an oh-so tired, oh so fed up but oh so out of it wreck of a human it was strange. It was also the moment Vlad realized it’s the first time he saw her today and it was nearing midnight.

She finally looks up at him when he steps into her little bubble to send a pointed look to the near empty wine bottle, then to her almost empty glass. She blinks slowly, still out of it, then a long second later huffs.

- Of fucking course it’s you. - she closes her eyes. - Leave. i don’t have time for this. 

- For what? - he finds himself curling his lips to the usual bitchy smirk without the mirth as he stands his ground.

- Whatever dishing out you have for me. Just... leave me be.

- You know fucking well you could hold your pity party in the godforsaken hole of your room. But you are here rotting my evening air so no, i’m not gonna just leave you be.

for a moment her eyes light up with the old fire of a hellstorm but she sighs it away.

- I’m meeting someone here today. so fuck off.

he pins his pointed look at the glass and snarks.

- Liver failure i assume.

- Yeah so scatter. you’re delaying them.

He sits down across her as close as uncomfortably possible shit eating grin plastered across his face trying to invade her bubble even more.

- Oh honey if you wanted to silently poison yourself you could have always asked. I have a whole collection just for you, labeled and sorted for all occasion. 

-  Like i need your help with that. Your face is enough.

Her bites are way too weak for their usual little spars and he hates these moments and hates these days when she’s so down that it’s not fun anymore. He blames years and years of living with Gyula for this. His mismatched backwards family ties rubbed off of him all the wrong way. (he never wants to humor the thought that their routine being off is the main urge for him to help cause that would imply dependency and fuck anyone trying to tell him he cares. not for this bitch)

- The day’s almost over and you did not even once throw anything at me.

- Sharp as always.

the silence is uncomfortable. it always is. she searches for something in her pockets then fumbles with her lighter. Her first drag of nicotine hits him harder than a nightmare.

- Are you planning on blowing up this building? This why you are so out of it? You finally snapped? - he laughs but not sure how much is a joke on his behalf. He will always see the worst in her and frankly it would be on brand to take out everyone in one swift...

- Would be pity for the furniture. Half of the main halls’ and the common room’s is mine. 

- As if anyone’s keeping track of these stuff. - she shrugs, lit cigarette hanging off her mouth lighting up half her face and her hand around the glass.

- Wouldn’t hurt what’s mine.

- Oh really. - long strange silence again. the smoke makes it less uncomfortable and he’s irked by it. Curse the familiarity of bad habits. - So, what’s eating you here in the middle of the night?

- Memories.

- Ahh, the unjust world where only you get to suffer like noone else?

- You’ve had your fare share of revolutions right?

the smirk freezes in spot. Her topic and casual tone frightens him more than her anger ever would.

- Yeah, what of it.

- Ever wonder if those who died in them were the lucky ones? They don’t have to move on and try to make things right slowly, or clean up their bodies or bury them...

- If i remember right today was a treaty not a revolution.

- Hah, you care - her snort is empty and hollow of humor and it gives him goosebumps cause no, he will never. - yeah. but it started so many personal revolutions. against you, against Roderich or Jakub or Drazen... silent personal wars against a life they did not choose but was forced on them, against governments that treated them like the worst of the worst, beating them into line...

- Oh look who’s talking. As if you did not do the same to anyone inside your hellhole.

- We DID NOT DRAW those borders. -she snaps and it’s familiar, it’s good, he can work with this, he knows this. but she’s out of it in a snap and he hates it. - Neither did i, nor did you. It was them - and she spits the words with hatred and oh so much hurt he almost- but you decided to be oh so fucking diligent in being a strict new owner like they gave you some fucking award for it.

- Don’t give me the moral bullshit, when you were selling out your own people just about a decade later for the fucking nazis! Nobody forced you to do THAT but you were jumping in on the torture like it was your salvation! For fuck’s sake listen to yourself! - he was screaming now and he hated her for that, he hated how he lost his cool in an instant when cruelty was the accusation aimed at him, when he was sitting across one of the most horrifying depraved historical wreck in his lifetime. And he hated how he couldn’t stop - And for fuck sake today wasn’t even about that, it’s supposed to be your pity party about losing family or some shit, why the fuck are you on about revolutions and sacrifices. - he was so confused and she looked so empty and he just hated the moment he decided to get a cup of coffee this evening.

- I know...i know. But you know what scares me? - she looks at him and god her eyes will eat him up alive, she’s so gone. she whispers - I don’t care anymore. Most who live and care are old, mess up the times, confuse 20 and 56 and 98 and those who are young can’t see what to remember, whom to cry for if to cry at all and they are angry oh so angry cause their present is shitty and their future looks stolen, stolen by those who should be the ones leading them and they have to pay respect to historical events nobody understands or learns from and they are told to cry but why, oh why would you cry when the tears are for only those who are innocent and i was never innocent and neither were you but it should not be their problem, their sin and they are just angry-

her voice broke as she ran out of air and he stares like she’s a madman (she is) and someone talking about the secrets never told (she is) and he fears for his life and thanks the heavens to be different, to not be her but he remembers the cost it had, the blood it took and he hates how he cannot look away from her eyes, the madness and the anger. so he lets her hold his hands, grab them as a lifeline and lets her ramble on and on about her todays, her battles that keep her up and numb, her young out on the street crying out for better education, for teachers and respect, her elderly not knowing what freedom of choice means, her middle conflicted and angry at the never ending exploitation and lies and tired oh so tired to work without compensation and... he’s frozen in place, listens cause he cannot let go of her hands, her grip is icy dead like a corpse frozen into a deadlock and he hates it, hates how it makes him speechless and glues him into place. She spits out her venom aimed at herself and it burns more than ever and he has to remind himself not to care, not to take  anything to heart cause it’s not his job, he cannot and will not help.

- It’s about loosing family, being cut off one day by a border yeah, but today it’s about loosing family by being cut of by common fucking sense, by personal fears and hurt, by not seeing eye to eye with your family cause they believe some fucking power hungry liar of a politician the hundred times and loosing them to some national-washed fucking program preparing your house to be sold out to some neo-liberal, neo-capitalist idea and everyone is so done and fed up they don’t even remember anything anymore cause why would you when there are no consequences, nothing at all and you loose family and you loose focus and you loose your will to fight on, cause there’s nothing to fight anymore...

She trails off and it feels like it’s over cause her deathgrip’s gone, her hands are gone and he’s still sitting there looking at her in silence. He has nothing to offer.

- You know the funny thing is how the Pope basically told us to stop fighting years ago? And now told us how sad it is to see so many closed doors. but i don’t fucking know how to open up when i know even if i do all i get is silence and empty stares. - she snarks again and takes a drag of her burnt out cigarette, angrilly searching for another one. - I know he’s right. - she speaks with the chunk between her teeth, frantically checking her pockets. - And i wanted to tell him how much he’s asking. Cause ain’t no way people will open up if i do. - the second cigarette joins between her teeth and she fumbles with the lighter. He cannot turn away just stares. Cigarette finally lit she takes both and blows the smoke slowly out through her nose. - I’m far too gone to be a team player again. Even if i wanted some ridiculous higher ups decide to play solo in the union. veto everthing for the sake of veto. I’m screwed.

- Yeah. you are. - he finally finds his voice and he blames the smoke for the softness in it.

- Thanks. - it’s empty, no venom in her words and it’s strange. - At least i know reality from nightmare.

- What’s your nightmare? - the question slips out and he knows he’s just overwhelmed by her trauma dumping and rambling, that’s why he asked.

- That nothing will change. Not until Ivan barges in again. And then still nothing. That this godforsaken state will remain for decades to come and people will just roll over as the politicians ask. That the kids will give up. That the teachers will give up. That only those remain who are okay with being rolled over and walked on. - her voice is barely a whisper and she’s not looking at him and he misses her frantic eyes cause this is too much, too honest, too personal, they were never like this (they were always like this) and he doesn’t want to help (he wants his normal back) but he has nothing to offer either (he wants this to stop, this night to end)

- You lost your edge.

- Yeah... - she ups her glass but it’s empty, her bottle is empty so she sighs. - can’t even get blackout dunk anymore to at least forget some of these.

- The poison offer still stands you know.

- Careful, i might take you up on that.

- Have the money for it?

- Where’s the personalized organized section for all occasion?

- I’ve never said it’s for free. 

- Leach.

- Moody bitch.

She snorts again, but it’s more to a chuckle and it’s like a mountain was lifted off of him but it’s scary.

- Thanks. You’re still the best verbal punching bag besides Jakub.

- Watching you having a mental breakdown every time is like a free cheap horror movie.

- Even more thanks then to sit it through. - there’s honesty in her voice and he wants to choke on it so he laughs, sharp and mean.

- Gotta watch the train wreck.

- Glad to be an entertainment. - she smiles, hollow and oh so mad and raises her glass to him two burnt cigarette but in it one still smoking a bit.

[heytheredeann]

@ the people who keep adding whump writing challenges in various months: I love you but also why do you hate me

[brightlotusmoon]

Turtle Pile of Nonsense - Chapter 15 - inkandstone - Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012) [Archive of Our Own]

This is a 2012 fic exploring the aftermath of Tokka Vs The Earth at the end of Season 4, the part where Michelangelo gets captured by government scientists and experimented on, which broke the number one rule of never get caught. Splinter cries. Everybody cries. I cried. Mikey will never completely recover. Life has forever changed. The acknowledgement the Mikey Fandom desperately needed. And right before Splinter dies forever!

Also, Mikey and Casey are dating and the shenanigans in the previous chapter are hilarious. It's why this chapter goes extra hard.

I'm going to throw this into the Mikey Fandom enrichment enclosure. Please. Eat. It's delicious.

[plaidpyjamas]

.

[whumptober]

WHUMPTOBER 2024: PROMPTS LIST

Welcome to Whumptober 2024 — Seventh Time's a Charm!

Please make sure to read the Event Info and FAQ below carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.

This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.

This year's playlist can be found here.

The 'Anatomy of a Whumptober Prompt' post can be found here.

And our 'Resources for Writing Sensitive Topics' post is here.

We’re very excited to see the community come together for another year of Whumptober! Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the fun!

Best of luck and happy whumping,

Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro

(Text versions of the prompts, as well as event information, rules and FAQ are posted below the cut!)

Whumptober 2024 Prompt List

No. 1: RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK

Search Party | Panic Attack | "If only we could hold on.” (Icysami x Renegaderr, Strangers.)

No. 2: TRUST ISSUES

Amusement Park | Role Reversal | “You got away with the crime while the knife's in my back.” (Charlotte Sands, Rollercoaster)

No. 3: SET UP FOR FAILURE

Fingerprints | Wrongfully Arrested | "I warned you."

No. 4: HALLUCINATIONS

Hypnosis | Sensory Deprivation | “You're still alive in my head.” (Billy Lockett, More)

No. 5: SUNBURN

Healing Salve | Heatstroke | "If my pain will stretch that far." (Lottery Winners, Burning House)

No. 6: NOT REALISING THEY'RE INJURED

Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms | Healed Wrong | "It's not my blood."

No. 7: ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES

Unconventional Weapon | Magic with a Cost | "It's us or them."

No. 8: SLEEP DEPRIVATION

Isolation Chamber | Forced to Stay Awake | "Leave the lights on." (Coldplay, Midnight)

No. 9: OBSESSION

Broken Window | Bruises | “Frame me up on the wall, just to keep me out of trouble.” (Fall Out Boy, Irresistible)

No. 10: BLOW TO THE HEAD

Slurred Words | Passing Out from Pain | "I can't think straight."

No. 11: SEEING DOUBLE

Convenience Store | Loneliness | “Leave no trace behind, like you don't even exist.” (Taylor Swift, Illicit Affairs)

No. 12: STARVATION

Underground Caverns | Cannibalism | "Just a little more."

No. 13: TEAM AS A FAMILY

Familial Curse | Multiple Whumpees | "Death will do us part." (Set It Off, Partner's In Crime)

No. 14: LEFT FOR DEAD

Hunting Gear | Blackmail | “Because I want you to know what it feels like to be haunted” (tiLLie, kooL aiD mAn)

No. 15: CHILDHOOD TRAUMA

Painful Hug | Moment of Clarity | "I did good, right?"

No. 16: NECROSIS

Swamp | Wound Cleaning | "No, I can't feel anything."

No. 17: NOWHERE ELSE TO GO

Ruined Map | Shipwrecked | "We had a good run."

No. 18: REVENGE

Unreliable Narrator | Loss of Identity | “I see what's mine and take it.” (Panic! at the Disco, Emperor's New Clothes)

No. 19: BLOOD TRAIL

Abandoned Cabin | One Way Out | "Is there anybody alive out there?" (Bruce Springsteen, Radio Nowhere)

No. 20: EMOTIONAL ANGST

Shoulder to Cry On | Giving Permission to Die | "It's not your fault."

No. 21: BODY HORROR

Body Horror | Tattoo Gun | Spirit Possession | “Let the bedsheet soak up the tears.” (Apparat feat. Soap & Skin, Goodbye)

No. 22: BLEEDING THROUGH BANDAGES

Tourniquet | Reopening Wounds | "Oh that's not good."

No. 23: FORCED CHOICE

Public Display | Broken Pedestal | "I'm doing this for you."

No. 24: RADIATION POISONING

Collapsed Building | Equipment Failure | “I never knew daylight could be so violent.” (Florence + The Machine, No Light, No Light)

No. 25: SURGERY

Stitches | Being Monitored | "It's for your own good."

No. 26: NIGHTMARES

Breakfast Table | Parting Words of Regret | “I'm haunted by the lies that I have loved, the actions I have hated.” (Poe, Haunted)

No. 27: VOICELESS

Laboratory | Muzzled | “I have no mouth and I must scream.”

No. 28: DENIAL

CCTV | Exposure | "They caught me red handed."

No. 29: FATIGUE

Labyrinth | Burnout | "Who said you could rest?"

No. 30: RECOVERY

Hospital Bed | Holding Back Tears | "What have I done?"

No. 31: ASKING FOR HELP

Therapy | Making Amends | "I'm alive, I'm just not well." (Elliot Lee, Alive, Not Well.)

Alternatives List:

Body Swap

Communication Barrier

Finding Old Messages

Forgotten

Friendly Fire

Motion Sickness

No-Holds-Barred Beatdown

Regret

Secrets Revealed

Shivering

Survivor's Guilt

Time Loop

Used As Bait

Venom

Vermin

Event Info & Rules

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. They are meant to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is “flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be a reference to an ‘old flame’ - an old relationship. It’s truly down to you!

In total, there are 4 prompts for each day. These are optional suggestions and can be used in conjunction with the theme, or as options/alternatives.  We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks. There is also a list of 15 alternative prompts that can be subbed in for any day, again to give participants as much creative freedom as possible.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag it with:

#whumptober2024 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(theme number)

#bruises, #stabbing, …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#altprompt …..(if you use an altprompt, tag the post with the number of the prompt you replace)

#fandom or #OC, …..(ironman, original content, oc, etc.)

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Keep in mind not to add “tw” in front but only use the word/trigger itself)

#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

#your own tags go here

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed. This is based on trust and we will not check this.

Frequently Asked Questions

Please read this before you send an ask!

TIMELINE

July: Trope voting form released. Late August: Prompt list is released for at least four weeks of preparation time. Tropes cannot be posted earlier than August 25th because of Moderator obligations in real life. (But, you know, go ahead and start writing/drawing, and add the themes in later, if you want!) September: Do as much or as little on your works as you want. You can prepare everything in advance or let September go by with vibes and start working in October. It’s up to you. October 1st: Challenge begins! A storm of whump breaks upon us all! During this time, some posts will be reblogged to the whumptober archive blog. We open the yearly AO3 collection for posting (optional). November 1st: The challenge is officially over! Completionist form opens for those who want to be included in the hall-of-fame. Early November: We release completionist and participant badges, solicit feedback, and post a hall-of-fame list of completionists by the 10th.

PARTICIPATION AND COMPLETION

Q: What counts as participation? Create or continue at least one work inspired by one of this year’s prompts. Q: What counts as completion? Creating work(s) inspired by at least one prompt from each day (or alts), for a total of 31 unique prompts. Q: Do I need to create 31 works? No. You can, if you want. Or you can create one work that you add to every day with a new prompt. Or several works that combine prompts. You can also update an existing work by adding new material with the current prompts. Q: Do I need to post my works somewhere to be a completionist or a participant? No. Q: How do you know I actually completed the challenge? We’ll take your word for it! Q: Do I have to finish my work(s) to be a completionist? No, you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish them in October, but if you want it to count towards being a completionist, you must have completed 31 prompts by the end of the month. So for example, if you’re writing a long fic and you fit 31 different prompts into the writing you did in October, it’s okay if that fic isn’t finished by the time October ends, you’ll still be a completionist. Q: Is co-writing/illustrating allowed? Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you. Q: Is there a min/max limit on word count for written works? No. Q: Is there a min/max limit of quality for art? No. Q: Do I have to do something each day to be a completionist? No. You can skip days whenever you want, and as long as 31 daily prompts (or alts) are in your works done in October, you can be a completionist. For example, if you wrote a 1000-word ficlet that covers prompts in days 2, 3, and 17, you can check all three days off your list even though it’s only one work. Q: Is this challenge just for fics? No! Artworks, GIFsets, headcannons, rec lists, poetry, moodboards, or any other creative work is encouraged. Q: Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges? Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.

PROMPTS

Q: How do the prompts work? There are FOUR prompts per day: a theme and three ideas. You can use one, two, three, or all four prompts for each day. If you don’t like any of the daily prompts, you can substitute one of the ALT prompts instead. Q: How strictly/literally should we interpret the prompts? As literally or as figuratively as you want. For example, if the theme is WATER, that could mean drowning, waterboarding, raining, swimming, take place underwater, be lost at sea, construct a metaphor about a character’s mood that changes like a flowing river, crying, or whatever else you can think of that fits that theme. Q: Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many? No limit and combine as many as you’d like. If you create a work that checks off multiple prompts, that work will count for a fill of multiple prompts. You need to address 31 different prompts to be an official completionist, but you don’t have to produce 31 separate works.

WORKS

Q: What’s whump? Hurting a character, whether that’s physically, emotionally, intellectually, psychologically, or any other way you can think of. Comfort afterwards is optional. Angst is emotional whump, so it counts. Q: How do I know if it’s whumpy enough? If your character is just mildly inconvenienced, it probably needs more whump. However, no participant has to prove whumpiness to the mods. Whatever you write is up to you. Q: What kind of characters can I create for? Anything. Generic “whumpee,” OC, PC, NPC, major characters, minor characters, or whatever you want. There are no limits. Q: Does it have to take place in a specific fandom? No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want. Q: Can I create AI-created works? We will not reblog or promote any works we know to be generative AI-created. Q: Is there anything we’re not allowed to write? As long as it contains whump and is based on our prompts, it’s fine. Please courtesy tag your works if you post them so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences. Q: What about sex, minor characters, and potentially disturbing content? You can create whatever works are legal in your country and post them accordingly. Please courtesy tag anything you think might be objectionable if you post to Tumblr so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences.

POSTING

Q: Where can I post my work? Post where and how you want. You don’t even have to (cross)post it to Tumblr. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive. There is an AO3 archive for Whumptober 2024, as well as the parent collection for works completed outside of the event. Q: Can I start posting early? You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? We won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st. Q: Can I post late? Yes. For the sake of our hardworking Post Fairies, only a day’s themes will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive each day of October. But you can post whenever. Some of us are still working on and posting Whumptober fics from years ago. Q: Do I have to use your tags? Only on Tumblr and only if you want us to reblog your work on @whumptober-archive. Q: How do I have my works reblogged to the archive? Properly tagged posts will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive. If you want the official archive blog to reblog you, post on Tumblr and tag correctly (see this FAQ link for more info on tagging). Please note not all posts will be reblogged each day. Q: Can we @ you? For questions and comments, of course. We’ll be getting a flood of notifications, so if you really want us to see something send an ask. Q: Can I cross post on other blogs? Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable, as long as they allow cross-posting (to us). You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once. If you post some works under your main and others under an alt blog, that’s fine for completionist purposes. Q: Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms? Of course! We’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there, which can be found here. The blog is the official archive, so please respect the personal boundaries of any whumpers in your social circle (don’t out anyone as a participant who would prefer not to be outed).

Most importantly, have fun, create, and enjoy all the whump posted this October!

[ranma0]

Notes from a concerned medical professional who reads too much hurt/comfort:

(These are all things I've seen in Hazbin/Helluva fanfics)

(Tw: for injury, illness, gore, drug use, overdose, a lot of other things)

You cannot drug someone to sleep by overdosing them on melatonin. It will not work

Don't submerge an open wound or stitches in a bathtub/pool/etc it will introduce bacteria to the wound (taking a shower is usually fine, just skip the romantic bath)

On that note, stitches do not immediately stop a wound from bleeding and should not be used to solve every problem (never give yourself stitches unless you have absolutely no other choice they can trap infection inside the body when done incorrectly)

And, if the wound is extremely deep, a person may need several layers of stitches to piece together the skin, muscle, and viscera

You absolutely cannot get high on tylenol or ibuprofen even if you mix it with alcohol.

If you do mix tylenol or ibuprofen with alcohol it can cause internal bleeding/kidney damage/liver failure, so please don't do that

If someone is shivering from a high fever, don't cover them in blankets it will raise their body temperature even more (please try correctly dosed tylenol or ibuprofen for this)

Don't submerge someone with a high fever in ice water, they might go into shock (they also might panic and hurt themselves) in a pinch lukewarm water will do

Don't put ice on burns, run them under lukewarm or cool water instead

If someone overdoses on an opoid (heroin, morphine, various pain medications), there is a medicine called nalaxone (Narcan) that can reverse the effects of opioids (edit: thank you to @queerlybehooved)

If someone is bleeding profusely, don't just hold their head and whisper sweet nothings, put pressure on the wound!!!

If a bullet remains in a person’s body after being shot it most likely should not be dug out unless it's blocking something vital, the bullet is not the problem the damage it made in it's path is

This isn't a criticism of authors who have written things like this. A lot of it isn't common knowledge, and DIY healthcare is absolutely steeped in myth and misinformation. I just worry about disinformation being perpetuated (and I really enjoy accurate hurt/comfort)

If I got anything wrong, please let me know, and I'll edit the post. I'm far from perfect and appreciate good advice

Let me know if you guys want a fic rec list of my favorite Hazbin Hotel whump fics

[siempre-bucky]

hallucinations

Qimir x Reader

summary: Qimir takes quick action when you get sick on Khofar when you start seeing things

wc: 1.6k

a/n: for the anon that wanted some whump... I hope you like it <3 I'm working on requests rn and they're still open for Qimir!

You wanted to like this planet. Khofar was a planet you had dreamed of visiting since Qimir gave you a map of the outer rim. The dense forest made you feel so at home, one with the galaxy—or at least you wanted it to feel this way. Your head pounded with every step you took as you trekked behind Mae and Qimir, your lungs struggling to fill with air. You weren’t sure when you began to feel so dragged down and exhausted, you didn’t feel this way often. 

Qimir pulled his pack higher onto his shoulder and looked behind to catch a glimpse of you. His eyebrows knitted together in worry, “You alright?” he asked, tripping over a rock but catching himself gracefully. You looked up with tired dry eyes, they burned as you tried to keep your gaze on him. With a nod, you drew in a breath and powered through to close the distance between you and your friend. 

“Fine,” you answered, masking the illness that took over your body. You wanted to crawl back to the ship and bundle up in the small sleeping quarters that barely slept the three of you. This mission wasn’t about you, Mae was eager to please the master and kill the Wookie. Right now you hated the eagerness that was powering her, it made her walk faster. 

“You don’t look fine,” Qimir sighed, “we can stop.” He slowed his movements as you entered deeper into the forest, his eyes looking at your feet to make sure you didn’t trip over a rock or exposed tree root on the small ledge you had to climb down. 

You raised your hand and put it on his shoulder to reassure him, tempted to lean against him for support as you maneuvered around to get to solid ground. “I’m good. We need to help her find Kelnacca.” He noticed the weakness in your tone, followed by the slight hoarseness that had him wondering when the last time you had water was. “It’s just in front of us.” 

The man looked forward, squinting to see what you were talking about. He knew the exact location and you were nowhere close to the cabin where the Wookie resided. He quickly realized that you were so sick you started to see things. “Hey, hey, hey,” he cooed as it dawned on him. He grabbed ahold of your arm gently to get your attention. You turned to look at him and he was able to take in the sweat on your forehead and the lifelessness in your eyes. “I need you to sit.” 

“I’m fine, Qimir. I feel ok.” 

Famous last words. A wave of lightheadedness crashed into you, and it made you stumble right into his chest. A chill followed, and suddenly you were transported to Hoth; freezing with no solution. Qimir was warm, the thickness of his coat warmed your cheek for a brief moment before he peeled you off of him. Everything was muffled as he sat you down on a rock, you vaguely heard him call out for Mae. The world spun as you watched him give her an empty canteen and urged her to go get water from the creek nearby. You swore you saw womp rats following her closely as she hastily disappeared into the forest.  

You suddenly felt the warmth of his hand hit your cheek, and you leaned into it, your eyes meeting his. His hand felt like a pillow, holding you steady as you struggled to stay conscious. His face finally came into focus. Qimir was just as beautiful as the day you met him, when he was still a gun runner for the Hutts, and you were freshly recruited by the Master for your set of skills.  “I think I’m sick, Qi,” you chuckled, giving in. 

“I know,” he sighed, using the side of his sleeve to gently brush the beads of sweat from your forehead. 

He looked around the forest anxiously, no sight of Mae and he had lost track of when he sent her. He grumbled something about her always taking her time and cursed her lack of urgency under his breath. Qimir felt you slump over and it instantly worried him. He’d never seen you so sick before. You managed to fight off colds with his remedies and hide your sniffles when you needed to. It hurt him to see you like this. 

The world went dark after that, and the next thing you knew, you were waking up to the smell of a familiar remedy. There was something about the spiciness that tickled your nostrils that instantly made you feel better. Qimir made it often when either of you got sick, storing containers of it just in case he couldn’t make it right then and there. He made it the first time for you just months after you met, getting caught in a rainstorm and the doors to the place you were staying wouldn’t budge. You were stubborn and demanded to stay with him after he shouted at you to find shelter while he tinkered with the bolts and screws. You were stuck in bed with a terrible cold for a week and Qimir never failed to bring you the special soup. 

You could hear the metal spoon drag along the bottom of the pot, the warmth of a fire soothing the chill you were still stricken with. A blanket had been draped over your torso, you snuggled in deeper to let it come up over your mouth, touching your nose. It smelled of him, earthy and a scent so uniquely Qimir. With a soft groan, you turned your head to the side to take in the room. It would have made a nice shelter if the Master wanted, it was large enough to hold a few people yet it had a charm to it. You felt as if you could live here for a while, fill up that nearly empty bookshelf in the corner, and bring those rusted-over monitors near the dirty window to life again. Maybe just not now though, your body felt as if an entire ship had been dropped on top of you. You didn't want to move, you couldn’t move. 

Qimir saw you wiggle beneath the blanket out of the corner of his eye. He quickly poured the soup into a bowl and carefully walked it over to you, kneeling beside the makeshift bed. “How are you feeling?” He placed the bowl on the table beside him and placed the back of his hand on your forehead. You were still burning up he noted, he took his hand and crooked his long pointer finger, letting it drag along the side of your face. Your head followed his touch so that your face was looking at the ceiling. It was almost sensual the way he touched you, slow and delicate, taking you in even in this state. He was thankful your eyes were closed or you might have seen the red flush on his cheeks.

“Like I got body slammed by a Wookie,” you answered weakly. “Was there a Wookie?” 

He chuckled a bit and shook his head, hair falling into his face, “No,” he said gently, removing his hand and sitting back on his heels, “You’ve been seeing things all day.” 

“Shit,” you cursed with a small laugh. Your eyes finally opened again and you turned your head carefully so it wouldn’t throb. Maybe he was right and you were seeing things because Qimir had changed? The green and brown baggy clothes you were accustomed to were different. He wore jet black sleeveless robes, well structured and they formed to his well-toned body. Had he always been that toned? You let your hand emerge from the warmth of the blanket and pressed your hand against his chest. His gaze was locked on your hand, watching intently as your fingers danced along the folds of his lapels, feeling the surprisingly soft fabric. 

“I-I have to go,” he told you, voice wavering as you touched the bare center of his chest. 

Your fingers were cold but his skin felt as if it was on fire. Qimir’s watchful eyes flickered over to you and your eyes began to droop closed. He took your hand and placed it gently on your chest, but he didn't let go. Carefully leaning in, he pressed his lips to your forehead.

“Stay—” you don’t know what possessed you to say it. You wrapped your hand around his collar again, this time it felt soft like his beloved brown jacket. Another hallucination, but you liked that one. Sure, Qimir had always been handsome, but him in those back robes did you in. Your heart was racing and it wasn’t from the illness. 

 “Eat that when you wake up please,” he whispered against your warm skin. “I won’t be long.” 

You mumbled incoherently and let consciousness slip away as soon as his lips left you. Though it didn’t last long, you woke up once again not knowing how long you slept for. Your eyes slowly opened, and a blurry figure was standing in the doorway. He outstretched his hand, his forearm wrapped in a metal gauntlet that glowed in the moonlight. A large black object flew to his hand. 

You blinked once to sharpen your vision. 

Twice to make sure you weren’t hallucinating again. 

The figure had his back turned to you, that object in his hand was a helmet. You watched as he slipped it over his head, his dark hair covered by the metal and he started to levitate inches off the floor. Those robes looked familiar. Qimir, you thought. But then you giggled to yourself—it couldn't be. 

You were just—hallucinating again. It had to be.

[defire]

Defiant whumpee but they're cooperating

(sadistic whumper vibes)

"I'm comi--I said I'm COMING!" *Crying, as whumpee is painfully manhandled anyway*

"Get on your knees." Whumper orders. "Fuck you," whumpee growls as they thump to the floor.

"Honestly I would've been gentler, but you had to resist," whumper shrugs. "I did everything you told me to!" Whumpee shouts. "Yeah, but I don't like your attitude."

"I'll do anything you want, please just stop!" Whumpee begs. Whumper pretends to consider it for a moment. "But... I want you to take another punishment. Can you do that for me?"

"Bastard, you can't control me!" "I can't? Then... why are you naked? Did you do that because you wanted to?" Whumper laughs at whumpee's flustered face. "Because that would be almost better."

Whumpee cursing at whumper every time they shove them around, but not fighting back

"it's like you want me to do this to you, isn't it?" Whumper eggs them on. "I didn't ask for this, you motherfucker!" "Then why are you still provoking me?"

"don't give me that look." Whumper points at whumpee's glaring face. Whumpee hisses a breath in. "Do you want me to fucking smile?"

Muttered curses every time whumper touches them

Giving the answers whumper wants to hear--in a dejected monotone.

"are you going to be good?" "Yes." "Do you want a treat?" "...yes..." "But you were bad, so you don't deserve a treat do you?" *Soft sigh* "no..." "What do bad pets get?" Whumpee shudders. "Answer the question, whumpee. What do bad pets get."

Can do this with living weapon whump too. "Let's try this again, weapon." "Yes sir." "What did you do?" "I let them live--I-I created a liability! ...sir." "And what happens when you turn on your owners?"

"Sir, can I --" "No." Whumpee grinding their teeth and keeping their face turned away to hide their bitter anger. "Yes sir."

[guys I have been gone for a while bc of bad life events but I'm coming back soon]