#TW injuries

[frownyalfred]

Being a Batkid doesn’t mean pushing through pain just for the ego or superiority win. It means pushing through pain long enough to make it somewhere safe to get help. It means not giving anyone, even an ally, a chance to parse weakness.

Dick finishes a rough mission with the Titans where he got thrown hard into a wall, smiles and jokes with everyone, and then zetas back to the Cave where he promptly throws up and collapses because almost every bone in his left arm is broken and not a single person noticed.

[sarathrwizard]

:)

(Ouch. that looks like it hurts.)

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One / Part Two (You are Here) / Part Three 

A03

Hopper had undersold Harrington's condition. 

Wayne hadn't expected anything pretty, but the face that turned to them as they walked through the door almost had him freezing in place. 

Black eye, bruised chin, split lip. 

More and more bruises, some faded and some very new, trailing down the kids neck. 

 The rest was hidden by his preppy little polo shirt, but Wayne didn't doubt that there were more.

Harrington tried to stand when they entered the room and the way he moved--entirely unbalanced, clearly in a lot of pain--made Wayne think the only thing the kid really needed was a hospital. 

Because Steve Harrington hadn't just been beaten. 

He'd been tortured--and very recently strangled. 

(Abruptly, Wayne realized that Hopper had implied the boy had been in the mall fire--just as much as he implied the mall fire was anything but. 

He also hadn't stated how Harrington had escaped the Suites trying to break into his house.) 

"Sit down." Hopper commanded, and Wayne expected Harrington to do anything but listen. 

Say something cocky, or act the part of a demanding little shit maybe, despite the condition he was in.

Instead the kid just sighed in relief and dropped like a stone, right back into the chair. 

Hopper came around his desk, talking all the while. "Steve, this is Wayne. Wayne, Steve."

"Hello Sir." Steve croaked politely. His voice was wrecked, no doubt from the necklace of finger shaped bruises around his neck.

"You're going to stay with him for a while, and you're gonna pay him for the privilege." Hopper informed him, as he began digging around his desk. "Money, chores, whatever Wayne wants." 

Wayne held his gaze as Steve turned to appraise him. 

Would Harrington pitch a fit? 

Would he look at Wayne's work clothes, streaked with dirt and sweat, with the name of the warehouse embroidered in the corner and crinkle up his nose, just like his daddy did? 

Hopper didn't lie, but a part of Wayne wanted to see just how different this Harrington was. If the respectful demeanor was an act done for Hopper. 

Or perhaps, Hopper had mentioned Steve's father for a reason, instead of his mother. Did he adopt her ice-like approach to life? 

Micro managing and long-held grudges were Stella Harrington’s game, and she excelled at it. 

Steve however, did nothing of the sort, instead settling with the situation in a way that reminded Wayne far too strongly of the men and women who'd come home from war.

"Okay." The kid said simply, after a long moment of consideration. He turned back to Hopper. "But we need to tell the rest of the Par--" 

Here he cut a look back to Wayne, correcting himself. "the kids. I don't want them showing up at my house trying to find me and freaking out." 

"They wouldn't--" Jim paused, fingers freezing from the rummaging they'd been doing. "they absolutely would, goddammit." He muttered darkly.  

"I'll tell the kids. The only thing I want you doing right now is laying low. I need to get a hold of Owens, but it's gonna take time to do that, and more time to fix this, so as of right now, Harrington? You're on vacation." He pointed sternly, as if Steve might argue.

The kid looked too tired and messed up to bother trying. 

"I mean it. You're out of the country, where is anybody's guess. No one's seen you and no one better be seeing you, got it?" His voice held firm, and Wayne had to blink because the tone here wasn't one of a police chief warning a teenager--but of a father talking to his son.

He knew, because his own voice did that now. Took on a worried tone that masqueraded as something more like annoyance and seriousness. 

"Yes, Sir." Harrington said, remaining weirdly compliant. "Consider me gone." 

A hand came up to briefly press above one eye, and Wayne wondered if the kid had been looked over, or if they had just crammed him into Hopper's office without offering so much as a tissue box. 

How many painkillers did they have back at the house? Wayne usually kept a good bottle around, but Steve was going to need more than that…

He found himself once again cataloging Steve's wounds, this time comparing them to the medicine cabinet he had at home. 

"I expect you to be a damn good house guest, you hear me?" Hopper continued, trying to cut a menacing figure. He finally found what he was looking for; pulling out a large, padded envelope. 

He handed it over to Harrington, who took it without looking, shoving it into the duffle bag he'd had sitting at his feet. 

There was a smudge of red on the handle of said bag, that matched perfectly up to a shittily done wrap on Steve's right hand. 

Wayne mentally added 'buy more bandages' to his list. 

Steve nodded at Hopper again. "Yes, Sir."

Jim’s eyes narrowed. "Quite that, you know I hate that." 

The briefest glimmer of mischief crossed Harrington's face. "Sorry, Sir. Won't happen again, Sir."

'Ahh.' Wayne thought. 'So there's a teenager in there after all.'

Jim rolled his eyes. "Get out of my office."

"Thanks Hop." Harrington said, finally dropping that odd obedience, a hint of a smile on his battered face. 

He stood, and Wayne had to stop himself from offering an arm out as Steve reached for his bag and limped towards him. 

He paused right before he left Hopper's office, hand on the doorframe.

 "You'll check up on Robin too, right?"  He asked, and for the first time his tone took on something more alive--and filled with worry. "And Dustin? Erica?" 

"Dustin and his mom are finally taking me up on my suggestion to see their family in Florida for a while, and the Sinclairs are taking a sabbatical from Hawkins. I'm working on the Buckley's." Hopper drummed his fingers on the desk. "So far, no one else besides you and El have been targeted, and we're going to keep it that way."

Steve let out a breath, and while Wayne could tell the worry hadn't left him, he could almost physically see Steve force himself to put it away.

Another act that was far beyond the kid's years. 

A different officer popped up as they walked down the hall towards the exit, waving his hand madly. "Harrington! Chief says you forgot this!" He barked.

(Or tried to anyway. Callahan wasn’t the most aggressive of officers and frankly, never would be.)

A slim sports bag was held in his hands, and Steve nearly tripped over his own feet when he tried to turn and claim it.

"I'll get it." Wayne said, knowing his tone sounded gruff.

No use for it. He could either sound gruff or sound sad, and Wayne knew better than to start off the relationship with yet another hurt young man by acting sad.

Pity wasn't gonna win him any favors here. 

He took the bag, slinging it over his shoulder, uncaring of the wince on Harrington's face until something sharp poked at his shoulder. 

Several somethings, in fact. 

"What the hell do you got in this thing?" He asked once they hit the parking lot, voice low as he escorted Steve to his truck. 

"Just a baseball bat, sir." Steve said, in the exact same tone Eddie used every time he thought he was bein’ slick. 

Considering the thing in the bag could have passed for a baseball bat if not for the sharp pokey bits, it wasn’t a bad attempt. Steve just hadn’t accounted for the fact that Wayne lived with Eddie. 

An unfair advantage, really. 

‘Least there can’t be any baby racoons in the damn bag.’ Wayne thought idly. 

Went on to gently put the bat in the backseat, watching as the kid struggled to lift himself into the truck.

"You can drop that, I take too being called Sir about as well as Hop does." He said, keeping his tone nice and calm, hoping to ease into calling Steve out on his lie. 

Fussed with a few dials on the stereo, giving Steve an excuse to take his time before starting the engine and taking the long way home.

Wayne wanted to talk a little-- without the chance of Ed’s interrupting. 

"Son,” He started off. “I was born in the morning, but not this morning. I'm hoping to make the next few weeks as easy as I can for both of us, and I can't do that if you're starting off with a lie." 

Steve blinked, turning to face him in a matter that was too fast for his injuries. He didn't bother hiding the hurt it caused him, but his voice stayed even as he spoke.

 "What do you mean Si--Wayne." 

"Nice catch.”  Wayne said. “We’ll get you there yet.” 

It was a trick he'd learned with Eddie--little tidbits of praise went a long way when it came to gaining trust.

Especially with kids who hadn't ever been given much. 

Harrington seemed smart to it, or perhaps was just hesitant to speak in general because he remained quiet, not offering up any info. No further lies, but nothing towards the truth, neither. 

Which was fine. Wayne didn’t think a little pushing would hurt.

"That bat of yours was digging into my shoulder like a bee swarm." Wayne continued, when it became clear Steve wasn't talking. "I'm more a fan of football than baseball, but last I checked they hadn't changed the design of a bat." 

"What teams?" Steve asked, perking up a touch. "Of football. Which ones are yours?"

Wayne could ignore it of course, or demand Steve give him an answer to the question he asked. 

He did neither. "I’m liking the Colts since they got moved here. You?" 

"Green Bay Packers, though I like the Colts too--that trade in 84’ was crazy." Steve said. After a second he proved that answering instead of pushing was the right move because he added; "What did Hopper tell you? About…" He trailed off, making a gesture Wayne didn't bother trying to interpret. 

"He said some things. I've guessed a few others." Wayne admitted. Cut a little look out of the corner of his eye as he came to a stop sign. "I know the feds are real interested in you after Starcourt." 

Steve took that in, hands tightening on the handle. 

"It really is a baseball bat." He said, a little fast and with the tiniest hint of that challenge Wayne had been looking for. "It just also has nails hammered into one end." 

Wayne took that in with one nice, slow blink. 

"A bat with nails in it." He said, and it made a hell of a lot of sense compared to the sensation he'd felt carrying the case. "You use it against anyone?" 

"Some of the feds." Steve admitted, and even with his eyes on the road Wayne could tell he was being stared at.

Judged.

Not in the way one expected a rich kid to judge, but in the way Eddie had, those first few months he'd lived here. The times when  he'd push, just a little, to see what Wayne's reaction would be. 

Eddie hadn't done it in a damn long time, but Wayne recognized the behavior nonetheless. 

"Anybody else?" He asked. 

"Nobody human." Steve replied. 

"Alright." Wayne said, and made a mental note to drop all questions related to that. 

He didn't need to know, definitely didn't want to know, and had a feeling if he did know he'd find himself being watched by the same spooks after Steve.

"I've got a few deck boxes that lock on my porch. Think you'd be agreeable to leaving the bat in one?" 

Steve paused, hand clenching tighter around the strap of his duffel bag. "If you gave me a key so I could get it in an emergency,  I'd be happy to." 

He tried to sound calm, even a little charming in that sort of upper-class businessman sort of way, but the fear bled through. 

The kid wasn't happy separating from the bat, and given it sounded like it might have saved his life recently, Wayne understood the hesitation. 

With an internal apology to Eddie, he promptly threw his nephew under the proverbial bus.  "I've got my nephew at home and he'd be far too interested in it, is all. Blades and weapons and such tend to attract him, and I don't need to be rushing anyone to the ER." 

All of which were very true facts (one Wayne learned the time he'd allowed Eddie to bring a sword  home, only for him to nearly cut his own nose off winging the thing around) but he figured it might make Steve more amenable to separating from it. 

Sure enough, some of the tenseness bled out of Steve's shoulders. "Yeah that's fair." 

The truck hit a few potholes as they finally turned into the trailer park, and the kid hissed, a quiet sound. 

Judging by the uncomfortable wince, and hands clenched into his jeans something painwise was giving him trouble. 

"When was the last time you took a pain pill?" Wayne asked, doing his best to weave around the other holes that dotted the gravel roads.

Steve blinked. "Uh…" 

"You take any today son?" 

Steve his head. 

"Didn't have time to grab it." He said, offering a sad look to his pack. 

Course he hadn't. 

"Let's get you inside then and get you some." Wayne said with a sigh. Thankfully Eddie's van wasn't here--Wayne was fairly certain he had band practice today but knowing him it could be a million other things.

Just meant he had to acclimate Steve as fast as he could, to try and get the poor guy settled before Ed’s came in. 

He just hoped life and lady luck would work with him, for once. 

[tartppola]

june bride day 1 - rings

♠️ → ❤️

[just-a-little-whump]

[wombywoo]

Hello!!

I wanted to ask if you would be willing to share how you go about finding the references for the injuries you depict in your work? Your pieces where the CoD boys are sporting injuries, fresh and old, are always so lifelike and to my untrained eye seem entirely medically correct.

I have been trying my hand at drawing the boys retired and resting as well, but I’m finding it difficult to decide what work injuries to add and how to find the respective references.

How do you decide what injuries to portray? And how do you go about finding the reference material?

Your huge fan, amustikas

Oooh ok ok! I'm gonna post my answer publically because I think others would find this interesting too!

To preface, I am definitely NOT a medical professional, and as such, a lot of the stuff I choose to depict in my art is not so much..ah, medically accurate as it is....aesthetically pleasing 🤭

I'll start with scars, as a lot of us enjoy slashing up Simon's face with them, lol. Generally, I'll do a cursory google image search for the type of scar I'm looking for (be warned, these can be graphic) with searches like 'burn scar' 'surgery scar' etc. But I find that for things like cuts and lacerations, real-life scars are a bit innocuous and lame 🤷‍♀️ Unfortunately not everyone's skin wants to retain that perfect slash look™️😔

So what I usually end up referencing are costume prosthetic scars ✨

As you can see, they're pretty gnarly:

And you definitely don't have to go this intense, but I find that the dramatic, carved-like appearance of these translate better to art than a realistically healed wound 🤙

The other thing to consider is the prevalence of injuries in the military. From what I've gathered, the most common will be back/shoulder/limb injuries, just a general fucking up of the whole musculoskeletal system in general due to constant overuse 🤕 Hearing loss, shrapnel/blast/burn injuries are also common, as well as all the negative psychological effects :') goooood times (not)

I think it's neat to look up real-life examples of these things, but it can get a bit intense if you're squeamish...

SafeSearch is OFF, the horrors are REal 😳

So yeah...I tend to tone things down, all things considered...😅

For this particular piece:

I researched broken humerus injuries and treatment 👍 Poor boy 🥺(Yes, I am aware that I consumed entire articles and did a shit ton of research about this just to go ahead and put a female's x-ray in this fucking picture sdfghjkl rip💀😭)

But here you can see the actual process for applying the brace for this particular injury:

Neat, eh?

When I draw Johnny with a knee brace, it's usually a real authentic one you can buy on amazon:

Product placement blast!!!💥✨ Bezos, where is my cut?? 🫰

As for ones like this:

I tend to just...scatter some wounds around and patch them up accordingly, lol. Bruising around the eyes is common with any head injury, and surgical stitching will offer a nice puckered skin effect mmm 👌 (I swear I'm normal abt this)

I'm sure the medical malpractice lawsuits are stacking up for me now, but again--it's usually more about the ✨visuals✨

My parting advice would be--go nuts! Feel free to maim and mutilate and mangle to your heart's content 🥰

Thank you for the question, Amustikas! I love your art as well 💗🫶

[imactuallyreallycool]

Day 1 of @bylerween2023 Ghosts & Hauntings

[abbeyofcyn]

Wretched little pests AU

Character designs for an AU I'm working on with @spacemimz @noxvee6 ❤️💙💜🧡

@wretched-little-pests-au

Since we're with the three of us we spun a wheel to decide who would design Raph as well and I was the chosen one~

[frownyalfred]

It actually makes a lot of sense that Bruce was one of the few people left standing in the crowd at Haly’s Circus when Dick’s parents died.

Watching two innocent people plummet to their deaths is gruesome. It’s shocking. It can be horribly traumatic, depending on the blunt force trauma of hitting the ground. They might not have died right away. They might have bled and made awful noises that were heard even above the sounds of the crowd.

But Bruce is Batman. Bruce saw his parents get murdered right in front of him. And he knows the sounds and sights of someone dying. He’s hardened himself to stay calm in a situation like that, both through trauma and practice.

I think the image of a young Dick Grayson making eye contact with the one unshaken person in the crowd is chilling. A man standing resolute when everyone else is screaming, sadness etched across his face. But not panic. Not confusion. Resignation, maybe.

[sarathrwizard]

I Care. Chapter 4 (Part 2/2) (Rottmnt comic)

Leo dreams of the accident from earlier that day. But his dream shortly started to twist into a world of lies. A nightmare he has never faced before! Trapped by his own mind, he can't let go of what's in front of him to realize it's not real. But with the help of his brother, he is able to break free from the nightmares clutches!

Next Part:

Previous Part:

:0

[yesloulou]

Drive to Survive Season 6, Episode 9

[aayakashii]

Haiii i hope you are doing well !! ^^ can you make a fanfic about possessive and jealous taiga? if youve written it before can you make a part 2? Thank you in advance ^^

I don't know if this is exaaaactly what you wanted but I got possessed by the yandere ghost and wrote this so I hope you like it ( ˊᵕˋ ;)

Warning: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!! Extreme yandere behavior, possessiveness, obsession, blood, injuries, all that insane thing that comes with yanderes and Taiga too tbh.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT CONDONE YANDERE BEHAVIOR IRL, this is all fictional please!!!!!!

The switchblade passes swiftly through Taiga's fingers as he toys with it, mind and face blank while his unfocused gaze is locked in your general direction.

He isn't properly looking, but you're there, subconsciously in the forefront of his mind, while he swims in the muddied waters of his memory.

Most days, Taiga doesn't give a shit about his memory. His life is eat, kill, gamble, sleep and repeat repeat repeat repeat. Why should he care? Does anything even matter? His life goes on, aimlessly, static noise ringing in his ears as he drags himself to the inevitable end.

Right now, however, his memory is being a royal pain in the ass.

He aggressively rubs his face with his hands, groaning impatiently, trying to get the information in the depths of his mind.

And you whine, helplessly, afraid of every sudden movement he makes.

Taiga's head snaps at your direction, gaze finally focused.

Ah, yes. Yes.

He had already forgotten why he was even searching for a specific memory, but noticing you, trembling on his torture chair, he remembered.

Taiga gets up from his seat on the foot of his bed and grabs a chair, wood loudly rattling against the marble of his floor before he places it right in front of you.

You weren't even bound, yet you trembled like a little mouse. His chest frustratingly tightens and aches at the sight, so he sits in front of you, mouth agape as he looks at your sweaty face from under his eyelashes.

The switchblade is still on his fidgety hands. He opens and closes it, opens and closes.

You flinch at every little sound it makes. It could make him laugh, if he wasn't so concentrated.

Right now, Taiga thinks of love.

Or rather, he searches his poor memory for any instance of love he might have felt in his life before.

He comes up with faint whispers of something that resembles it, something old and long gone, something pure and pretty, something that felt like large soft hands raking through his hair as he slept peacefully.

But it's wrong. It's not what goes on inside his chest right now. What swirls in his heart is tumultuous. It's loud and destructive like thunder and lightning. It feels like possessive hands wrangling his heart, egging him to do the same with yours.

His instincts tell him to call it love, but he isn't able to compare it to anything else he has ever felt in his young life. Therefore, he doesn't know whether or not this crippling obsession could ever be called love.

Taiga stares at you, silently. Sharp eyes that could cut into your skin and leave you bare open for him to devour like the anomalies he covets.

When he doesn't speak, you swallow hard and loudly, gathering all the courage you have left inside of your body.

"I don't know why you're keeping me here, Taiga... B-but if I did anything that upset you, I apologize." you whisper. You feel like you're trying to bargain for your life with your very own predator.

Taiga leans back on the chair, closing the switchblade for a final time.

"Or... Or if you need my help with something, I can help you. Just please... don't threaten me like this."

"Threaten?" He tilts his head to the side before barking out a loud laughter. "I'm not threatening you."

You furrow your eyebrows in disbelief.

"I didn't even bind you to the chair. Come on. You're all free to move." he says with a smirk.

You make no movement. You're pretty sure he would shoot something (probably you) if you tried to leave, just like he has done plenty of times before when something doesn't go his way.

"I'm trying to understand" he says, opening the palms of his hands before crossing his arms.

"Understand... what?" you ask.

"You. Me. This." he motions to the both of you.

You keep your lips sealed, waiting for him to continue, since you are completely lost on whatever could he mean.

"Say." he leans towards you and licks his lips with a gleam of amusement in his eyes. "I think I'm in love with you."

You deadpan and feel your heart dropping down to the confines of your intestines. Your skin gets unbearably cold out of nowhere, with goosebumps painfully pricking your arms.

Taiga laughs loudly once again.

"Look at your face! You should have seen your face! You look so fucking scared!" he says between giggles and, if he wasn't so dangerous, you could close your eyes and imagine him being a normal man who laughs in this boyish way for actual normal reasons.

"I'm not joking though." he adds with a grin before you could even think of relaxing.

"I think I want to keep ya." he murmurs, scratching his chin. "Wanna make sure no one else is gonna try to put their hand on ya, y'know?"

"Taiga-" you begin to plead, but he shushes you.

"Nah, don't even start. Too many assholes 'round here tryna hog your attention. Y'think I didn't notice?" his eyes harden and you purse your lips, preventing any reply from inadvertently leaving your mouth.

He gets up from his chair with a sigh and stretches nonchalantly.

"I was tryna figure things out just now, y'know. Like, 'do I really like you?' and all, but aaahhh..." he scratches his head aggressively, pulling a few strands of his red hair loose. "It makes my head hurt. I don't remember if I ever felt like this before. I don't care though."

He turns on his heel and leans forward, placing his hands on the chair's arms, successfully caging you under his body.

"I like you and I'm gonna keep what I like only for myself, eh? I think that's a good strategy." he murmurs, eyeing every inch of your face with careful attention.

Your bottom lip quivers at his words and he presses his index finger over it.

"Lulu won't care, as long as we don't make much of a mess" he grins maniacally "And I get to play with you alllll by myself. Alllll mine. Only mine. Sounds great to me, hm?"

You blink and tears roll down your cheeks despite how you tried so hard not to shed them. You are too afraid to ask him to let you go, and you are too afraid to stay.

Taiga locked you inside an invisible cage and you're pretty much sure there is no key that could ever set you free.

"Oh, of course." he perks up, as if he remembered something important. "I have to make very clear that you belong to me, don't I? Let me fix that."

Taiga swiftly grabs your left hand and puts your ring finger inside his mouth. And before you can even register whatever he planned to do, he bites down with a force that you were sure could rip your finger off. You scream in agony as his sharp teeth pierce you to the bone and your blood flow into his mouth. He swallows it eagerly, humming loudly, eyes rolling at the coppery taste.

Taiga opens his mouth and eyes his work, satisfied, despite the tears that run freely down your face.

That injury was going to leave a scar that would never fade away.

"My turn" he murmurs, unceremoniously pushing his own ring finger inside your mouth. It was his left hand as well.

You stare at him wide-eyed, the pain on your own finger blaring inside your veins. It left your thoughts scrambled and confused, but Taiga isn't patient.

"Bite me." he pushes his finger further inside your mouth and against your teeth.

"Wai–" you try to protest.

"Bite me." he repeats louder, his voice and stare truly threatening. Now you understand why he said he wasn't threatening you before. Because you are pretty sure he is properly threatening you now.

You hesitantly close your lips around his finger and bite him softly. He grunts, still unsatisfied.

"Harder." he demands.

You force yourself to bite down, cringing at the feeling of his skin almost breaking against your teeth.

"Harder." he repeats, now breathlessly. "You have- have to draw blood."

You shut your eyes tightly and bite down with all the strenght you can muster, pushing down the nausea that comes with the warmth of his blood coating your tongue.

Taiga unabashedly moans at the feeling of your teeth breaking his skin and the sight of his very own blood seeping out of your mouth.

He takes out his finger from your lips and admires your work with explicit pleasure.

You weren't going to leave a scar, but he could very well tattoo your little bite marks onto his skin before they faded away.

"Did you swallow the blood?" he asks, sighing as he sees you trembling and wiping your mouth.

You nod weakly, feeling the corners of your vision darken as the pain on your hand finally takes over your whole body.

Before you pass out, you feel Taiga place his forehead against yours.

"Now we're together." he whispers as you go limp against his body.

Taiga observes you as you're unconscious. A sick satisfaction blooms inside his chest as he watches you, now splayed on his bed, the red and inflamed injury on your finger being the proof that you're entirely his from then on.

It doesn't matter if what he feels is love or if it's just sick obsession. You are now tied to him and his boring, depressing days.

As he trudges slowly to his inevitable end, you now walk right beside him.

He silently promises that you won't ever need to die alone. Don't you worry because, now, you can only die with him.

And if that isn't love, then what is?

[whump-about-it]

Constant Pain

@febuwhump Day 5: Rope Burns.

CW: angst, description of injuries, dissociation.

"Whumpee, those are never going to heal if you don't stop touching them."

Whumpee startled out of their mindless stupor to find Caretaker leaning on the door frame watching them with an expression of concern. Their eyes were flickering between Whumpee's sallow face and their hands, which they had in their lap, each picking absently at the scabbed rope burns on the opposite wrists.

"Sorry," Whumpee murmured and moved their hands to either side of their legs. This wasn't the first time Caretaker had caught them picking at the scabs, or the first time they had cautioned them about re-opening the wounds. "They just..."

Whumpee let their voice trail off. They couldn't tell Caretaker the rope burns still hurt. They couldn't explain why they hurt so much. Whumpee had so many other injuries that reasonably should have bothered them more. They couldn't put weight on one of their legs. There was a six inch gash in the back of their head that had required being stapled. Their were bruises around their neck had made breathing so uncomfortable that they had developed a chest infection by the time they were rescued. The welts on their back hadn't healed yet, and they couldn't move to much for fear of ripping the multitude of stitches all over their body. Yet, despite all of that, the rope burns, the most innocuous of their injuries, hurt the most.

Actually, that all made sense to Whumpee. When they had been rescued, Caretaker had told them Whumper had held them for a little over month. But it had felt like a year. Every day had been different. New pain. New torture. New fear. Nothing had remained the same day to day. Nothing Whumpee could look forward to or dreed. Not even food or water. In that whole time the only constant had been the rope. Their hands had been tied the whole time.

The rope burns had been Whumpee's first injuries. Their oldest and deepest. And the ones that they had cried over the most, hopelessly trying to wriggle their way out of their bonds and watching blood trickle into their useless hands. Of course those wounds hurt the most. But how were they supposed to say that? How were they supposed to explain in?

Whumpee nearly jumped out of their skin when Caretaker brushed their uninjured knee. They were now kneeling in front of Whumpee, looking even more concerned than they had before. Whumpee hadn't noticed they were dissociating again.

"Is everything okay?" Caretaker asked gently.

"Yes." Whumpee lied. "They itch. My wrists. They itch and I keep forgetting not to touch them."

"I know."

They both knew Caretaker was lying too.

[ludotpng]

pelo bem da nação, por favor me de 1 migalha de scout sendo obliterado (i need that twink OBLITERATED tm)

Com certeza 🙏 Scout sendo obliterado ... KKKKkkk coloquei bastante tempo nisso .. espero que goste , anon ! TW for blood and injuries

Schadenfreude RED medic's revenge on that pesky little BLU scout ❤️ Full vers. available here ! ( major TW ahead , NSFW content in the full image )

[tsubaki94]

Here's another for the Gore category, Janitors Closet.

It's another lineart for @green-with-envy-phandom-event where I may have gone a bit overboard with the background. Oh well, can't wait to see how this will be colored.

[artemis-artblog]

The Corruption

worm girl #2, this time with more emphasis on the worm part

(not tagging anyone for this bcs idk how good yall are w this kldsjlks)