#' BULLET WOUNDS

[thebad-lydrawn-sanses]

Horror, do you and the other's have food preferences? If so, i would like to supply you with your favourite foods and for the others as well...

Horror: i like sweet pastries (like cinnamon buns), Killer and Dust like ketchup, Cross likes tacos, and Nightmare likes sweet/sugary artificial flavors (think pink lemonade), but Killer and Cross would probably prefer chocolate at the moment and Nightmare is trying to gaslight everyone into thinking he doesn't want to eat (since he doesn't NEED need to but it'd be healthier for him if he did)

[IMAGE ID: An image of Horror, moderately injured and taking off his jacket. Horror has other people's blood on his fingertips. Horror has bloodstains on his glove and the mid-back inside of his jacket. Horror has a large bleeding axe wound on the right side of his face, a profusely bleeding bullet hole on his forehead between his eyes, and a small but very bloody cut below his left eye where someone attempted to stab his eye. Additionally, there's soot on the right side of his head from where someone tried to burn him. Above him reads his dialogue, "i like sweet pastries (like cinnamon buns), Killer and Dust like ketchup, Cross likes tacos, and Nightmare likes sweet/sugary artificial flavors (think pink lemonade), but Killer and Cross would probably prefer chocolate at the moment and Nightmare is trying to gaslight everyone into thinking he doesn't want to eat (since he doesn't NEED need to but it'd be healthier for him if he did)". END ID]

[how-much-for-a-whump]

Akrep 23. Bölüm

Prompt: "Bullet Wounds"

source

[fredsarebeds]

This prompt is one I've been thinking about writing for a while. You know how sometimes the leader is too focused on something so they don't realize something else has happened? Yeah that's pretty much this but they don't realize one of the team members is injured and they try to hide it.

----------------------------------------------------------

Caretaker was currently running from the police. Whumper had framed them. Go figure. Now they were stuck in a parking garage trying to find a way out, so they could go figure out a plan to save Whumpee, and not get arrested in the process.

Caretaker felt a buzz in their pocket and realized it was a call from Team leader (again). They were about to pick up this time when they heard sirens (again), so they ignored it and put the phone back in their pocket. They exhaled sounding slightly exasperated.

Can't ever catch a break huh.

They peeked their head around a corner trying to see if they could make an escape route. Only to find that the police had completely covered the perimeter of the garage. Caretaker cursed. If they couldn't make their escape without detection they had two options:

Option one, give up and let themselves get arrested. Whumpee would probably die (causing the rest of the team to eventually fail because both Caretaker and Whumpee are now gone), and Whumper would get away with framing Caretaker.

Option two, making a break for it through the line of police and trying to lose them on the streets. Maybe still get arrested, but if they did lose them then they could regroup with the team. Whumpee would also have a chance now.

Both options sucked Caretaker decided, but the only real choice was option two unfortunately.

They ran down the ramp of the garage to a motorcycle, and began working as fast as they could to jump start it. A few policemen saw Caretaker and started shouting. Shit. Caretaker started working faster. But by the time they had gotten the engine jumpstarted, they had the undivided attention of all the police. Caretaker revved the engine and swerved the bike around to the other direction around a concrete pillar, not noticing a singular police officer to their back with their gun raised.

The officer didn't hesitate to take a shot.

The sound that echoed through the garage was deafening, and caught Caretaker almost more off guard than the unexpected pain that went through their side.

Caretaker staggered on the bike for a second then revved it again, and bolted out of the garage into the night air. Their primary focus was on losing the police and getting to the rendezvous spot which was around 30 blocks away. Not the gaping hole now in their side.

Losing the police on a motorcycle was fairly easy. The city has so many back alleyways and crevices that cars can't get into. Caretaker drove down one of the cities many abandoned subway stairwells, and came out on the other side only about 6 blocks away from the meeting area.

With the police now off their back momentarily, Caretaker took a deep breath and winced while putting their hand to the wound. It came back bright red, and the adrenaline of the chase had started to finally wear off a bit. Every slight jostle sent a sharp pain through their entire abdomen. They lifted their shirt to try and assess the damage.

It seemed pretty bad. Yay.

Caretaker had hoped that the bullet at least had went through and through. And it did, which was evident because of the exit wound through their stomach. But based on where it was located and the amount of blood, it had nicked an artery on the way out. Not nearly as bad as what Whumpee had been going through though. Whumpee had been taken hostage by Whumper for a little over a week, and the tings they did...

Everyone probably thought it was Caretakers fault. Caretaker didn't blame them.

They should've been faster.

Whumpee was the youngest one the team, and they shouldn't have to go through the same thing that Caretaker had with Whumper. Caretaker almost shuddered at the thought.

That's why they needed to save them as quickly as possible.

And this stupid bullet wound would only slow the team down from doing exactly that, Caretaker took their jacket off around their waist and put it on. Caretaker hoped that this would help stem the blood flow while also hiding how much they were bleeding, and set out for the safe house. They could patch up there, and then they would go save Whumpee.

Just walking was agonizing, but they couldn't risk bringing any unwanted attention with a stolen motorcycle. Before walking in, they looked themselves over for any signs of blood, Team leader glared at them as Caretaker tried not to stagger through the door.

"TEN. MISSED. CALLS. What the hell Caretaker?!" Team leader shouted. Medic and Teammate quickly acted like they were busy around the console, Caretaker cringed at the volume. Shit, their head was pounding.

Teammate walked over to Team leader and put a hand on their shoulder, "We can't start getting side tracked right now," They gestured to the table everyone else was gathered around, "We need a plan."

Team leader sighed and pressed their fingers to their temples, "Look, I didn't mean to raise my voice. But we're all worried about them. I just want to get Whumpee out of there as fast as possible."

Caretaker looked at their feet feeling guilty. Yeah me too.

They had only been standing at the console for a few minutes but their side was burning again and it was getting hard to stand up straight and focus. Caretaker carefully backed away from the screen console they were standing around to lean against a nearby wall while subtly wrapping a hand around their side, pressing on their stomach. Making sure to put pressure on their back too, Caretaker bit back a hiss and closed their eyes.

Teammate noticed their pained expression and walked over to Caretaker's side. "Hey, you good?" They looked at them, sounding slightly concerned.

Eyes still closed, Caretaker responded, "Yeah, it... it's just been a long day. I'm probably going to go lie down."

"That's great Caretaker, but that's not an excuse to be taking a nap right now." Team leader said not taking their eyes off from the console. Caretaker was grateful they were focused on that because they would've no doubt seen how pale they were. They also felt their side was starting to get sticky, and their jacket was clinging uncomfortably to their skin. Caretaker actually wanted to go sleep with how exhausted and cold they felt now, but they needed to go find a med kit and stitch this up first. Maybe drink a Gatorade too.

"So get back over here because we aren't done," Team leader ordered.

Caretaker didn't make any effort to move from the wall. They physically couldn't. Dark spots started clouding their vision, threatening to take over.

"Caretaker are you sure-" Medic started.

But before they could even finish, Caretaker's knees buckled and they collapsed onto the ground with a breath of pain. Medic cursed while they knelt down by Caretaker's side, and started searching for the source of the blood on Caretaker's hands. But with all the blood oozing from one side underneath their jacket, Medic quickly found the source of the problem, and lifted their shirt. Team leader just stared at the hole in their friend's side, and Medic started putting pressure on the wound with their hands right away, causing Caretaker to cry out.

"Caretaker... holy shit. Teammate go get me a medkit right now!"

"Medic, stop..." Caretaker slurred, weakly attempting to push their hands off. Medic just presses down harder, grimacing when the slippery liquid seems to seep out even faster like they were on a blood thinner.

"Did you take a whole bottle of aspirin or something?"

"...m'no"

Medic sighed, "Save your energy dumbass, it was rhetorical."

Team leader finally gathered their thoughts enough to speak, "Why didn't you say anything?" The words came out sounding like whimpering puppy dog.

"Your brother..." Whumpee.

Caretaker tried to say something else but the words were just sluggish and mumbled. They felt someone tapping their face and shaking them.

"Hey, no. You stay awake!" Medic pleaded.

Too tired.

The dark spots in their vision took over.

[popcorn-plots]

Febuwhump day 3: "Bite down on this."

Title: Holmes and Watson

Words: 687 (finally, something that's not a drabble)

Summary: Sherlo-- Stephen gets injured on a casemission. WatsWong to the rescue.

~~~

Stephen groaned as he clutched his shoulder. It was supposed to be an easy fight after tracking down a rogue sorcerer through London. Technically, Stephen wasn’t even supposed to be here – it was below his paygrade, according to Master Gremm of the London Sanctum. But Stephen had been stuck doing paperwork of all things for the past week and he wanted to get out.

Well, compared to bleeding out in a random alleyway after underestimating his assailant and paperwork, Stephen probably would have stayed at home. In his defense, however, he didn’t expect that the rogue would pull out an enchanted pistol and shoot him point blank. He was also told that the rogue was barely an Apprentice when they turned on the Order, meaning that they wouldn’t have the knowledge or the skills to enchant anything, let alone a weapon. Which meant that the rogue was working with another sorcerer.

To make matters worse, Stephen was pretty sure his ankle was broken and his shoulder (the same one the rogue had shot because fuck his life) was dislocated. He had taken a hard fall into a dumpster an hour ago and walking/running had been a bitch since. He both looked (probably), smelt, and felt like utter shit.

The rogue, watching from the side, kicked Stephen in the side for good measure, eliciting a groan from him, and vanished. Stephen felt like he should give chase, cast a spell or two, but he hadn’t slept properly in a week and his cracked ribs were still healing from the last fight. So no, he wasn’t giving chase.

Stephen laid there for a second, feeling warm blood pooling around him, cooling in between his fingers. Oh, right. It had been a clean shot, the bullet went straight through his shoulder. From the fact that he wasn’t dead yet, Stephen figured it hadn't hit anything vital. Still. Another reason he wasn’t chasing the rogue, he was hemorrhaging and possibly going into shock.

Stephen watched as his non-injured arm, soaked in blood, flailed about for a bit before falling back to his shoulder. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Stephen knew he had cast an SOS spell of sorts. There was a whooshing sound and Wong was kneeling beside him.

“Stephen…”

“Dislocated shoulder, broken ankle. Clean shot, there’s an exit wound.” Stephen managed to choke out. The pain wasn’t horrible, per say, but it wasn’t a walk in the park, either. “You gotta relocate the shoulder and set my ankle before you can move me.” Stephen breathed out.

Wong nodded. From his personal pocket dimension, Wong pulled out a spare belt. “Here, bite down on this.”

Stephen complied. The belt was rough and didn’t taste very good, but he knew he’d be grateful for it in a few seconds.

Wong gently removed Stephen’s blood-soaked hand and cast a simple spell to staunch the bleeding until they could get back to Kamar-Taj. Finally, Wong grabbed Stephen’s injured arm and, ignoring Stephen’s grunt of pain, pulled it up and rotated it.

Without warning, Wong shoved the joint back into its socket. Stephen’s scream was muffled by the belt he had bitten into. Thank the Vishanti for Wong’s gift of foresight.

Next was the ankle. Wong managed to set the bone without any complications, but it still hurt like a bitch.

When it was over, Stephen ripped the belt out and threw it to the side. “That hurt.” He groaned.

Wong stared at him as if saying, ‘no shit’. Stephen rolled his eyes and forced himself into a seated position. Wong, despite Stephen’s protests, picked him up bridal style and carried him through a portal into Kamar-Taj’s infirmary. Stephen probably wouldn’t be able to live that down, but he was secretly glad he didn’t have to walk.

They caught the rogue just a few days later, working with a Kamar-Taj insider. The insider was punished and the rogue locked up. Stephen couldn’t do anything (not that he would if given the choice, Hippocratic Oath and all) while he was wobbling around on crutches, but he could put his middle finger to good use.

Ao3

[gangviolets]

[w4nderingstarcodfanfics]

Patch Job

I will not stand for Soap's bullet wound erasure by the COD story. SOMEONE HAD TO TAKE CARE OF THAT. Guess I have to do it myself and turn some unrealistic BS off camera healing into a great bonding moment. 

Summary: Soap hasn't had a great night in Los Almas. The weather is shit, his friend's been captured, and oh yeah, the gunshot wound in his arm! He really needs a drink.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46637737

[whump-about-it]

“I was raised in the circus, remember.”

“Normally that’s a sufficient answer, but I really don’t understand where in the circus you learned to treat bullet wounds!” 

[mech-a-nical]

911, What's Your Emergency?

Composition: Unnamed

Word Count: 2034

Character Focus: Charlotte

The pros of being a murderer outweighs the cons

Being shot by a hot woman is better than dogs' batons

Someone opened fire, bullets ripping through the air, meeting unfortunate targets at random. With the bass boosted music, the first shots were ignored, until bodies dropped to the floor, spraying blood around. Screams rang above the music as customers, dancers, and employees ran from their places, chairs tipping over and crashing onto the floor, bottles and glasses falling from tables and hands, shatters adding to the cacophony of cries.

The majority of people were running away from the front exit, shoving their way to the back of the nightclub. Few others were trying their luck running towards the front, legs crumpling underneath them as bullets were showered into their bodies, while the rest that were not running remained rooted in fear or hiding behind anything they could use as temporary cover.

Charlotte ducked behind one of the pillars that stood throughout the floor of the club. An ornate nightclub had vexed her when both her and her informant had spent countless nights figuring out a plan with the amount of security installed, but as bullets slammed into any possible surface, it seemed that the pretentious decor saved her from eating bullets for dessert. 

The same could not be said to the many bodies littering the floor as awkward piles of limbs, the neon lights painting the blood in bright colors. Filled with bullet holes and covered with splashes of bloody gunk, couches and screens also acted as cover for those too cowardly to be with a back exposed trying to run towards the back exit and too scared to run to the front. They stay crunched down or curled up, phones in their hands as their mouths move rapidly.

Dogs will arrive at any moment, and Charlotte needs to vacate before they arrive and find her. She brushes blonde hair away from her eyes as she stands up, placing her hands in front of her for stabilization as she leans to see past the pillar. 

Another body hit the floor, and she could see the shooter now that the mob aiming for the front had thinned considerably. A woman was dressed casually, as if she had been lounging arounding and decided to commit a crime out of boredom, holding a handgun, a bag next to her on the floor and multiple guns scattered around her. Short black hair brushed the woman’s shoulders, soft brown eyes opened wide in what could have been considered a picture of innocence in any other scenario. Delicate pale skin was flushed pink, the neon blue and pink lights brushing her in vivid colors.

A shot went off, and Charlotte's body startled, her side that was uncovered due to her peeking jerked backwards when an unbearable warmth rushed through her shoulder.

Mouth open wide, Charlotte pressed herself with her back to the pillar, shielding her whole body. Blood was starting to well up and spill down her arm, she could see her shirt starting to stain. 

There was a commotion by one of the couches, and Charlotte raised her head, pressing her hand to the wound, to see a woman stand up from behind a couch and dash for the back door. A woman who looked eerily similar to her target.

Another shot rang out and the scrambling woman crumpled to the floor. Blood was pooling quickly from where the head had fallen, and with a last single glance towards the body, Charlotte looked past the pillar towards the shooter.

The shooter was crouching down, one hand on the gun raised into the nightclub, while her other hand creeped to the bag on the floor. 

It seemed that Charlotte was not the only one to get the idea to escape at that moment, as when she pushed herself off the pillar and ran towards the shooter, footsteps could be heard around her.

Wide eyes of the woman behind the gun locked with hers, the gun trained towards Charlotte's head, and Charlotte only ran faster, bracing herself for the shot. She might stumble with the bang of the gun being so close to her, or have her informant get news of her death.

It seemed there had been a third option, as a man arrived faster to meet the shooter, a hand coming down to jostle the gun and when the woman fired, the shot was aimed at Charlotte's legs, where another sensation of ripping hell spread through her left leg.

She bit her tongue, a scream ripping itself between her teeth. Her legs trembled under her, her steps landing heavily on the floor, jostling her shoulder and sending shockwaves up her leg. Blood would start dripping down her leg, and she needed to scatter before she left a trail back to her apartment.

The man probably wanted to be praised as a hero once all this was over, but Charlotte didn't spare him a second glance as she twisted herself to run past the duo struggling on the floor. 

Met with a blast of sound and air as she shouldered her way out of the door, onlookers were already crowding the streets, phones in hand, and some started to approach her. She wasted too much inside, and she could see the red and blue lights shining across buildings and the sirens getting nearer, the crowds starting to shift.

Charlotte ignored the cries and screams of people behind her as she bolted down the alleyway next to the nightclub. More people were crowded there, but she pushed her way through, letting the blonde hair cover her face as much as possible. Her hand was still pressed to her shoulder, and her leg was threatening to bring her crashing to the floor.

During their planning, her informant had mentioned various blind points that Charlotte had tested out days prior. With a path in mind, she weaved through the darkness. Her lack of jacket was biting her now, and although the black pants covered the bullet wound in her leg, the white v-neck crop top did nothing to hide the one on her shoulder. This led to angling her body in such a way that if she needed to get out of the alleys, her shoulder would not be visible and she could pass off as a hurried and cold woman going back home. She used the blonde hair to cover it further, lamenting the future discardment of this wig, but blood would be too troublesome to get out of the fake hair.

Charlotte hoped her limping would be misunderstood as well.

Entering another alleyway, Charlotte crumpled against the brick wall. She was far enough away from the club in order to take a moment to rest without fearing for her life, but still too far away from home to make the trip without alerting anyone.

Unsticking her hand from her shoulder, she cleaned her palm as much as she could on her pants, before fishing through the pockets to dig out the modified burner phone. Tapping the number one handed, she swallowed saliva that was threatening to overflow her mouth as dizziness and nausea started creeping into her reactions.

Pressing the phone to her ear, she waited in silence, curling herself as small as possible while continuously checking both entrances of the alley, until the call connected.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“How fitting”, through gritted teeth holding back her cries, she could not help a watery smile at the harshly accented voice of her informant. More blood gushed from her shoulder, and Charlotte could guess her leg was fairing no better, running down in rivulets down her skin. “I’ve been shot, I need- I need a delivery…”

"Multiple bullets?"

The question was clipped, no trace of humor in his voice, although there seemed to be anger underneath, though Charlotte knew for sure it was not aimed at her.

"Two…lots of blood…"

There was silence from his side, and Charlotte was starting to wonder if she should lick her arm to clean off some of the blood when he spoke again, tiredness apparent in his voice.

"Bag deposited three minutes away from your location, alley next to the corner drugstore on your way. Take everything and go home. Alternative transfusions in an early product packet at your door. Don't die."

The call disconnected, leaving Charlotte alone with her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She went limp against the wall, hand clutching the phone weakly as her arm and leg burned. Rising up seemed daunting as the seconds went by, but she knew she was at risk of bleeding out if she remained sitting like a corpse. So with a muffled scream that was reduced to wet gasping, Charlotte stumbled her way to the drugstore.

Lurching into the alley four minutes later, Charlotte found the bag nestled between the trash cans after stumbling around in the dark. Using the light of her own phone was out of the question, since it would give out her location. Interruptions were unwanted as she bent over to rummage through the bag, pulling out a jacket wrapped around a roll of bandages and a smaller roll of medical stape.

With already limited knowledge of bullets and her even more so limited movement, Charlotte left the jacket on top of the bag with the medical tape, holding the roll of bandages with her limited hand as she slowly unwrapped about half of the roll. To cut it, Charlotte brought up the bandage up to her mouth, switching to hold the roll with her available hand as she pulled and teared until she could drop the unused half onto the jacket.

Switching back the bandages to her limited hand, she dropped her jeans, embarrassment forgotten in the face of her wounds. Charlotte proceeded to wrap the bandage around her thigh tight enough to almost cut off the circulation in her leg, bending down to retrieve the medical tape to tear off pieces in a similar fashion to how she cut the bandages.

It was more of a struggle to wrap the bandages around the wound in her shoulders, and Charlotte stared with trepidation at the jacket lying on the floor when she was done wrapping her shoulder with the rest of the bandage. She could barely move her arm without the bandages, but considering how much bandage she used and how strongly she tightened it, it would be difficult to bring her arm through the arm of the jacket, although she could not remain like this either.

…needed to bring her pants back up as well…

Charlotte started laughing once she had finished dressing herself, tears dripping down her cheeks as her prior frustration that had bled out in cut off screams and sobs of aggravation trickled away from her. She was tired, cold, dizzy, nauseous, and incredibly wounded, with half the urge to fall asleep right then and there.

In her agitated state, she was able to start limping again towards her apartment, quiet giggles bleeding out of her, hand clutching the bag.

She was quiet when she stared at the package waiting outside her door, ready to kneel over after she had pulled herself up the stairs to her floor. Truly bothersome that they had decided on a location half an hour away from her apartment by foot. She could barely wrap her head around the trip she just took, the memories bleeding away like blood through her fingers.

Unlocking her apartment room, she leaned down to grab the light package with the logo of the supplement brand she receives monthly. There was an official label stuck on the package with structions written with a pen

Call for instructions.

Charlotte smiled as she locked the door behind her, staggering towards her bedroom with the box and bag in hand. 

“In other news, 28 year old woman, Laura Marley, apprehended without trouble two days ago for the shooting at Mirage, one of the few luxury nightclubs in the area, was found dead in her cell this morning. This same morning, information was acquired that she had been the perpetrator behind the string of nightclub shootings and that Laura had been considered missing and dead for some months. Now truly dead, police and investigators are stumped on the motives behind these heinous crimes…”

[forgetmesunflower]

that influence bathing, everything budding

“Gotham Harbour’s numerous toxins and pollution and whatever else might be in there would not leave a swimmer with just a little bug, especially not when all those chemicals were mixed together. Jason would be lucky if he didn’t start having hallucinations any time soon. Or a fit of giggles. God, he really hoped not.” — Jason falls into the harbour and gets shot. Dick uses Jason’s dazed state to make up for missed years as a big brother.

MintyBoi’s Whumptober: Day One - Stitches | Adrenaline Crash | Bullet Wounds

Rating: Teen Words: 5.9k, 2/2 Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd

The second chapter is entirely caretaking and 1.3k words of hair washing. You have been warned.

[tenth-sentence]

All the same, those few seconds were enough for five of our men to get stomach wounds.

"All Quiet on the Western Front" - Erich Maria Remarque

[sebbyomg]

@summerofbuddie ⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊ WEEK 5: minimalism

[jebwizard]

Video Voyeurism or Unintended Civic Responsibility?

A controversy has arisen over the distribution of graphic images on Twitter from the recent shooting at a Texas Mall. People were outraged at the insensitivity of those who used their cell phones to capture and post pictures of the victims and for Twitter allowing the images to be posted. Here’s a link https://www.nytimes.com/2023/05/07/business/media/texas-shooting-video-twitter.html My first…

[ink-candlestick]

Here’s our girl

Still not very good at digital art but I don’t mind how this one turned out :)

Click for higher res

[raepliica]

(content warning: blood)

Sewed Up Heart

[ID: A Trigun comic done in grayscale with red accents. First, an anatomical heart gushes blood, forming a puddle which shifts into Vash's coat. Vash's gloved hands can be seen sewing up a tear at the hem.

Vash raises his hands, which are now bare and covered in blood. He looks sweaty and distressed, and he raises his coat to his face and cries into it. His clenched hands rip the sewed portion apart, and the red thread leads to a heart whose own stitches are tearing apart. The background gets darker and darker, and the red looks brighter and starker against it.

Then the background returns to white, and brown-skinned hands using embroidery scissors snip a red thread. Wolfwood holds up Vash's repaired coat, grinning proudly, and does a happy thumbs-up in Vash's direction. Vash lifts his head, seeming distant.

Wolfwood holds out the coat. As Vash puts out his hand to take it, the cloth is replaced so Wolfwood is dropping a sewed-up heart in Vash's hand. Vash rubs the coat against his face with a teary smile. End ID] ID CREDITS

[doctorsiren]

I have an idea (concept sketch that I will make a more refined version of in the morning since it is midnight)

[esmiara]

"Then they kissed and lived happily ever after"