#bleeding through the bandages

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 22 - bleeding through the bandages

Warnings: swearing, canonical violence

Word Count: 1.5k (gif not mine)

Summary: Maria and Coulson have a debrief, Maria expresses her true feelings about Natasha. Oh, and violence.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

“Fucking shitheads,” Maria growls, watching them circle.

The five person team is easily broken; two split left, two right and one leads down the middle.

She takes the one in the middle, rolling under her truck, and shooting his leg. He drops and she puts a bullet in his head.

“One,” she whispers.

Two sets of two.

She takes the gun off the corpse, recognizing him as Barnaby, and resists the urge to kick him.

Sliding under the car, she moves to the right, and climbs into the bed of her truck.

Peeking over the side, she shoots twice.

The first one hits, the second goes wider.

Both shots alert the remaining three to her position and she ducks as wild bullets fly over her head and hit the car.

Maria rolls out, crouching low and listening to the sound of boots on the ground.

She hears them before she sees them.

They shoot and miss as she runs at the team of two.

She knees one in the chest, knocking the wind from him. Unsheathing her knife and throwing it, she hits the second in the leg.

“Fuck,” she swears.

He punches up as she punches down. Maria then elbows him in the head, pushing it against the concrete.

She traps his gun between their bodies and straddles him like a lover, smacks him with the butt of his own gun, and then dismounts.

“Three,” she counts.

The next shot whizzes past her head, hot and searing.

She runs.

Shooting behind her, she wants to go back for her knife, but survival tells her to go and she bolts further into the car park.

Maria reaches for her phone, calling Coulson as she runs.

“Maria?!”

He sounds out of breath, as he answers on the second ring.

“Maria! I can’t talk, meet me at safehouse six. If Clint calls, tell him the same!”

She hears the phone drop, and the sounds of dogs barking.

She drops her phone too.

The bicycle left untethered seems the easiest escape and she hopes whoever it belongs to doesn’t need it.

She grabs it and rides, feeling the urgency of the chase and the men at her heels, knowing they’d take her out if the opportunity arose.

She has a choice, take them out or escape; the former feels more dangerous but the satisfaction in doing so, alluring. The latter is safer but she knows they’d still be after her.

She rolls her eyes at herself.

“Fuck,” she swears again under her breath.

“Two to go.”

They’re easily spotted as she stops and scans the back of the parking lot. The sounds of gunfire had made people scatter and their uniforms made them stand out.

She checks her bullets.

Four.

She feels her limbs begin to grow heavy, the initial adrenaline fading. She’s running out of time.

One has her knife.

She hides behind the cars, if she can get around behind them, they’d be easy targets.

Quietly, she drops the bike and confidently begins to move from car to car, keeping out of sight as they sweep the parking lot in search of her.

Finally, they split when they reach the end of the row.

She takes the one that’s limping. Her knife must have embedded deep.

The first shot hits him in the chest, the second misses, but the third finishes him. She retrieves her knife, and feels irate, recognising Seif.

“Fucker,” she doesn’t restrain herself and kicks his dead body.

“One.”

It’s not even a challenge. With one bullet, she approaches him from behind and shoots him in the head.

Satisfied, she takes his gun, holsters her own, and runs back to the bike The sounds of police sirens and emergency services are closing in.

The whole ambush only lasted only minutes, though to Maria it felt hours.

Safehouse six, she thinks, the code is not hard; six blocks from Shield, floor six, apartment 36.

The adrenaline fades further and she feels the stickiness of blood on her neck.

She hopes it’s not hers.

.

Coulson finds the first aide kit under the sink in the bathroom.

He pulls out the gauze and a bandage and puts it to the side. Washing hands, he watches the pinkish-red blood run down the sink. His knuckles split and the knife wound that runs along his left hand doesn’t seem too deep.

He decides against stitching it and instead places small butterfly bandages on either side and then wraps his hand with practiced ease.

Clenching his fist, he lets it go and feels that he did a good enough job.

His shirt is beyond repair.

The closet holds sets of clothing, different sizes and for different occasions.

He opts for another shirt, but rolls the sleeve over his bandaged arm.

He checks his own burner phone, hoping to hear from someone.

No Clint, no Maria or Fury.

He knew it would be dangerous, but he may have underestimated how much cornered dogs fought.

He hopes that Thompson is imprisoned for life for all he’s done, locked up and the key thrown away.

.

Coulson doesn’t have to wait long.

Maria knocks, three sharp raps on the door.

He opens to find her holding a hoodie against her head, soaked with what he thinks is her blood.

“Shit,” he comments, his usual stoic face shocked.

“Got them,” she grins.

He ushers her in and directs her to the bathroom.

Pulling it away, blood leaks from the side of her head, the graze of a bullet wound obvious.

“It needs stitches,” he tells her, “maybe glue.”

He probes it and she hits his hand away.

“Just glue it,” she hisses.

“You have to wash it,” he argues, “you might want to shave it first.”

Maria rolls her eyes annoyed.

“Fine.”

She opts to wash it, Coulson watching her, sitting on the toilet.

“Clint?”

He shakes his head.

“Fury?”

He shrugs.

“I guess we wait?”

Coulson nods.

The water runs red with her blood. He offers her scissors and a straight razor. She takes them, annoyance on her face.

The blood slows as she works her way around the graze, looking at herself in the mirror like she’s putting on makeup.

She sighs.

“That’ll have to do.”

Coulson gently glues the cut, ignoring her wince.

“What’s next?” she asks, admiring his work, and turning her attention back to him.

“Your arm is bleeding you know?”

Coulson looks down, finding his bandage tinged with red.

He sighs.

“Do you think Clint and Natasha are okay?”

Maria nods.

“As long as she doesn’t turn on him, they’ll be fine.”

The words come out flippantly. She meant it like a joke, but it’s evident by Coulson’s frown that he doesn’t take it that way.

Maria feels mean.

After all Natasha has been through, she feels sorry for her; feels like maybe in another life they might have been friends. But still, there has to be caution. She loves Clint like a brother, but doesn’t really know how to keep him safe since Natasha’s arrival.

“You still don’t trust her?”

Maria doesn’t answer straight away. She does trust Natasha, in a way, but to admit that would be something else.

Trusting a Russian? Her military father would roll in his grave.

“Do you think this is her fault?”

She asks the question that she can’t help thinking.

Natasha came and SHIELD changed. She had warned Clint.

In those first couple of weeks, she told him after the attack in the kitchens, that the others were scared of ‘different’. That people are scared of anything threatening.

She didn’t want to be like that, but after the attack she’d just endured, she wondered… would things have fallen apart if Natasha hadn’t come? Or had she just exposed what would have happened eventually?

It’s hard to admit the cracks and fissures in SHIELD were already there, and Natasha had just made it break.

Coulson sits on the closest chair and motions for her to do the same.

“I don’t,” he answers, “but tell me why you do.”

“She came and it changed. She unveiled traitors and now they’re after us, everything is different…” Maria knows it’s unfair, even as she says it.

“And you're scared?”

She shakes her head.

“No.”

But even as she denies it, she knows it’s true.

“Everything’s changing.”

Coulson looks at her.

“Maria, it’s the nature of life and the world we live in that things change. We need change to make a difference. We can’t let Hydra or the KGB or Russia operate beneath us. If we did, what would we stand for? Natasha may have pushed it forward, but it’s not a bad thing. Her being here, she’s made a difference.”

Maria looks at her feet.

She knows he’s right.

It just feels so uncomfortable.

“It’ll be okay,” he smiles, half hugging her.

“Give her a chance. Clint hasn’t done a bad thing. And I think you know it.”

Maria sighs heavily, a grumble on her lips.

.

[callaeidae3]

Whumptober2024 Day 22: Bleeding through the bandages

Trying to keep the blood circulation, and keep him from bleeding out, until help can reach them

[tildeathiwillwrite]

The Journey South

The Watcher and the Thief, Chapter 3 Scene 1

Whumptober Day 22: 22 BLEEDING THROUGH BANDAGES | Tourniquet | Reopening Wounds | "Oh that's not good"

Whumptober Day 25: SURGERY | Stitches | Being Monitored | "It's for your own good."

Whumptober Prompts List | Masterpost

Tales from Valaria Masterpost

<- Previous | Next -> (coming soon!)

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 1600

Tag List: @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion @scaewolf

@the-ellia-west

CW: blood, stitches, wound cleaning, worry

A/N: Hector and his stubbornly optimistic apprentice Luc have begun their journey south in search of a magician who can reverse Luc's curse. But can they find her before Luc bleeds out? A Watcher met on the road may provide an answer.

----------

Three days earlier…

“We’ll rest here.”

“Are you sure? There’s still a few hours of daylight left.”

Hector gave Luc a flat stare. While his apprentice was clearly trying to put on a brave face, his body language betrayed him. Exhaustion lined every inch of Luc’s body, and the way he held himself in the saddle betrayed how every movement bothered the wounds in his back and chest. Every sway and dip was accompanied by a wince or a tightening of the jaw as he tried to hide his pain.

But he knew Hector’s eye for detail better than anyone, and his shoulders slumped. “Okay, we can stop here.”

‘Here’ ended up being a spot a short distance from the road, hidden behind a small hill and the tall scraggly bushes common in the sparse plains southwest of the Fells. They had left the blockade as soon as they were able, but progress through the Fells on horseback was, as usual, slower than Hector would prefer, losing most of their daylight navigating through barely passable terrain.

Hector dismounted and secured their horses before he helped Luc down. Luc hissed through his teeth when he hit the ground, jaw clenched. “That’s… that’s gonna be pleasant.”

“Silas said to change the dressing every morning and evening. You think you’re up for it now?”

Luc hesitated before responding. “Let’s get it over with.”

Hector unloaded their supplies from the horses, setting them down beside Luc as the boy slowly lowered himself to the ground, face set against the pain. It was only until after Hector finished loosening the saddles and removing the bridles from both horses that he realized he was stalling.

He exhaled sharply and went back to Luc, digging the medical supplies out of the saddlebags. The elves had made sure they would not run out of things like bandages, dressings, augri for cleaning wounds, or various medicines on their journey. Understandable, considering Hector wasn’t certain how long it would take before they tracked down Qila Scoria. Magicians were unpredictable in how they chose to use their gifts, but last anyone in the Fells had heard, she was near Valdove, a few days’ journey south.

He was stalling again. “Shirt off,” he commanded, a little too sharply for the situation from the sideways glance Luc gave him before complying. The young Watcher hissed through his teeth again as he raised his arms above his head and worked the shirt over his head in slow movements.

Hector set his jaw when he saw the state of the bandages wrapped around the wounds on Luc’s chest and back. Blood was beginning to seep through the cloth and in some spots had entirely soaked through. Stitches or no stitches beneath the bandages, the carved runes were proving their refusal to properly close.

“Is it bad?” Luc asked quietly.

Hector untied the knot holding the bandages tightly and began to unwind them. “They haven’t gotten worse, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Well…” Luc began, thinking, “I suppose it’s all I could be asking for. Every day that passes without infection is a good day for me.”

Hector finished removing the bandages and set them aside, trying to ignore his nephew’s blood on his fingers as he pressed a clean cloth reeking with pure alcohol to the small, uniform cuts. Luc stiffened when the cloth made contact, but he did not cry out. “Still finding the silver lining,” Hector muttered, methodically working his way across Luc’s back, “I admire your perseverance.”

“I try,” Luc said, wincing with each movement. The runes sliced into his skin had been stitched shut by the elves, but that didn’t prevent the curse from continuing its work and keeping the wounds from closing.

Hector worked in silence, moving on from cleaning the wounds as quickly as possible. Rewrapping was much the same as unwrapping, although Hector felt his work was clumsier than that done by the practiced hands of the elven surgeons.

How many more times must I do this? He wondered as he put away the medical supplies. Luc’s blood was no longer on his hands physically, but he could still feel the thick, sticky liquid every time he rubbed his fingers together. How much longer until he bleeds out?

…How much longer until I have to bury another family member?

He didn’t voice any of these thoughts aloud. Not when he gathered some fallen branches from the nearby shrubs to start a small fire. Not when the fire grew hot enough to cook with. Not when he prepared their evening meal. Not when they ate in silence, the chill of the autumn night pressing against their backs.

Hector didn’t voice any of the thoughts aloud.

But he suspected, from the way Luc occasionally shot glances his way, that he could still hear them, even if he didn’t answer aloud either.

Facing your own death is one thing. Hector faced his so often that such a threat was almost meaningless.

Facing the death of your apprentice is another.

And facing the death of your apprentice when it might happen through circumstances utterly out of your control? Another thing entirely.

Not to mention the very real possibility that Qila Scoria, once they found her, would be unable or unwilling to provide aid. Then what? Search for the next magician? And the next? What if they encountered the one who had done this to Luc in the first place? They had only gotten away alive because Hector had caught her by surprise, he doubted the same thing would happen twice.

“I can help keep watch,” Luc offered as they were settling down for the night.

Hector looked at him sharply, about to argue, but Luc continued, speaking quickly. “I’m not going to be able to sleep well anyway, no matter which way I lay down I’m going to be on the stitches, and you can’t keep watch all night and navigate the next day, so get a couple hours of sleep, at least….”

Hector exhaled in frustration. He had a point. “Fine.” He unclipped his pistol from his belt and held it out to Luc, still in its holster. His apprentice stared at it for a long moment before hesitantly taking it. “I don’t expect you to have the same range of motion as you would normally. I’ve seen you shoot, you’re a good marksman.”

Few Watchers carried firearms, most in Hector’s generation preferred the bow or crossbow, having used them for decades. But Hector knew a dangerous and useful weapon when he saw one, and so when he got his hands on one he made sure he learned how to use it well. Such skill was imparted onto Luc, although you wouldn’t know it by the way he handled the weapon like a hot coal.

Hector contented himself with the crossbow he had inherited from his own mentor. Luc was as familiar with it as Hector himself, but the extra exertion from reloading the bolt was guaranteed to tear the stitches in his back.

“First watch?” Even before the words completely left his lips Hector knew the answer.

Luc nodded, turning the pistol over in his hands. “Perhaps when my watch is done I'll be exhausted enough to actually get some sleep.”

Hector allowed himself to return his nephew’s smile. He hoped his optimism would be able to last long enough for the curse to be reversed.

*****

They met the unfamiliar Watcher ten hours later.

The sun had only just risen above the horizon, the last wisps of morning fog yet to evaporate. She was walking south along the road, the same direction as Hector and Luc, and from her unbothered disposition when they caught up, she had heard them coming a while before.

“‘Morning,” she wished them as they rode up on her right. She wore a cloak dyed in the recognizable greens and browns of a Watcher, although hers were a more muted shade than Hector's own coat. Her curly brown hair was tied back in a low ponytail. She carried a bow in one hand, a quiver hanging from one hip and a short sword on the other.

Judging from her relaxed posture as she walked, she deemed them no threat. But her short sword was at easy reach, and any number of other weapons could be hidden within the folds of her clothing.

As Hector made his assessment, the way her eyes darted between him and his apprentice showed how she made hers. She frowned when she noticed Hector’s pistol holstered on Luc's belt. “Watchers in the north carry firearms now?”

“Fires faster than a bow or crossbow,” Hector countered.

“Hm. Noisier too.”

“Easier to carry.”

“Harder to acquire ammunition.”

“Yet.”

She sighed. “Fair enough.” She closed the distance between them and stuck out her hand towards Hector. On his horse, she came to the middle of his chest, estimating her height around one hundred and seventy centimeters. “The name's Kaira. Kaira Ta'ruen.”

He shook the offered hand. “Hector Epsilona. This is my apprentice, Luc.”

Kaira nodded to his nephew before turning back to Hector. “What brings two northerners to this lonely road?”

“Could ask the same of you.”

“Fair enough. I came from west of here, was called out to find a couple missing folks. Tracked them almost to the Fells where….” She narrowed her eyes. “You two wouldn't happen to know something about a serial killer up in the Fells, do you?”

Hector glanced back at Luc, who gave him an imperceptible shrug. Probably the best he could do without bothering his wounds. “As a matter of fact… yes. We do. We were called in from Caenum to help with the elven blockade….”

[bluegarners]

Hi I love your fics! For the bad things happen bingo could you please do bleeding through the bandages with Jason Todd? Thanks❤️

ANON I FINALLY DID IT!!!

[tansyuduri]

From Chapter 3 of Nine Lives

“No more of them, then?” Arthur gasped. The sword slipped from his gasp, making a dreadful clang as it hit the floor of the room. 

Merlin did not reply to Arthur, he was too busy tearing the sheets to make bandages. 

“Merlin?” Arthur asked. 

“Hold still,” was all Merlin said as he frantically bandaged Arthur’s wounds. He didn't think the attacker had hit anything vital, but Arthur was losing blood quickly. Too quickly.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” Arthur said, sagging sideways. Merlin caught him, wrapping one of Arthur's arms around his shoulders. “We have to get you to Gaius…” Merlin began. 

To his horror, the bandages were already leaking blood. It trailed along the floor as Merlin half-carried, half-helped Arthur stagger out the door. More blood… And more! Too much… As they moved down the halls, Merlin could see Arthur’s eyelids droop—his face pale, sweaty and clammy. 

Merlin shook him. “Hey! Prat! Stay awake! Clotpole!” Merlin was mostly carrying Arthur now and the insults were desperate invitations for him to keep talking.

“Still can’t… tell me what to do…” Arthur slurred out. Then, he sagged against Merlin completely, the wetness of his bleeding wounds further staining Merlin’s outfit.

“That is not funny!” Merlin snapped as they rounded a corner. 

“Slightly funny. Heh,” Arthur’s words slurred even more. 

Merlin lifted the man he loved as adrenaline rushed through his body. He had to get Arthur to Gaius. Blood dripped sluggishly to the stone floors 

“Arthur? Talk to me! ARTHUR!” Merlin tried. “I mean it! Arthur! Arthur, say something!”  Merlin took off, running.

Arthur’s face was much too pale. He started a word that began with “S—” but his voice broke off part way through. Then, Arthur’s eyes rolled up behind eyelids as they finally flickered closed.

“ARTHUR!” Merlin called his name frantically. “Arthur… Hold on.” Merlin began to run faster, spurred on by desperation.

“Stay alive… stay alive,” Merlin gasped as he ran, the words matching the rhythm of his pounding heart. Arthur was still losing too much blood. Much too much blood... Much more, and it would be too late.

“Arthur, stay with me!” Merlin called. “Don’t you dare die like this! Arthur!" 

Read It Here

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

A Cut

Summary: Written for AI-less Whumptober 2023 Day 14. Set during RttE’s King of Dragons, Part 1. Hiccup almost avoids being hit by the harpoon aimed for the Titantwing Dramillion

Warning: Some violence

Rating: Teen and Up

Characters: Hiccup, Toothless, Fishlegs, Meatlug, Snotlout, Ruffnut, Tuffnut, Spitelout

Pairing: /

Words: 1 243

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: Bleeding through the bandages, field medicine, no anesthesia

Whumpee: Hiccup

Author’s Notes: I could've written something really heavy, but I decided to keep it light for this one.

Enjoy!

@ailesswhumptober

XOXOX

Hiccup saw the harpoon coming and made the split second decision to dodge out of the way. His left cheekbone burns intensely after. His heart pounding, unwilling to comprehend how close he's just come with death, he follows the direction it's going. Toothless’ gaze is only on him, having feared for a headless rider. The harpoon strikes the Titanwing Dramilion and it falls.

All he can do is shriek "no!" and give chase, but he and Toothless fail to keep the injured dragon from falling into enemy hands.

Watching as Johann and the Flyers flee the scene with the Dramillion, Hiccup barely notices the blood quickly seeping from his wound. Though Toothless can certainly smell the metallic tang in the air. One peek at his Rider and he's off to find Fishlegs.

-XOXOX-

Most of the Dragon Riders and Spitelout watch in strange fascination as Fishlegs tries his best to stop the bleeding. Hiccup sits on a rock as his friend holds his face. One hand cups his uninjured cheek, the other holds cloth to the cut. Toothless spaces from his one side to the other, keeping a close and worried eye on him.

"Do you guys really have nothing better to do?" He glares at his friends. "Like finding that Dramilion?!"

He’s in a bad mood for obvious reasons. He’s angry that they couldn’t save the Dramillion and that they’re forced to waste time treating his injuries instead of chasing after the Flyers. Fishlegs has a cloth pressed against his cheek, but it just keeps getting redder from all the blood he’s losing. It has already run down his throat and soaked through his tunic. That certainly doesn’t help either.

"Astrid's got it covered," Ruffnut speaks up.

"Yeah, and she's got it covered alone!" Hiccup protests. Another reason to be in a bad mood.

"Except she's not alone, she has Stormfly with her," she reasons. As if one dragon will matter to a fleet and the Flyers.

He can’t help but express his annoyance.

“Hiccup, don’t move!” Fishlegs protests, pulling his friend back. “This cut is very deep, I won’t be surprised if it’s gone down to the bone!”

“Man, your face is half off!” Snotlout remarks in disturbed fascination.

“Snotlout, my face is not “half off!” Hiccup sighs.

“You came close to losing yer face, boy-o. That harpoon almost took your head clean off!” Spitlout says, bellowing with laughter. Without a doubt, it’s going to be a good story to tell around the fire.

“That’s going to be such a cool scar,” Tuffnut helpfully states.

“You mean hot,” his sister argues.

Hiccup averts his gaze away from his friends, looking up at Fishlegs and patting Toothless’ nose. He hates being here when Astrid is all alone out there and when the Titanwing Dramilion- possibly the King of Dragons- is in danger. If they can somehow harness its mind controling powers… that would be disastrous.

Fishlegs' gaze meets his and there's an understanding between the two.

"Hey guys, can you go find me some medicinal herbs? I won't be able to stop this bleeding without them," he requests his friends.

"What? No, you don't," Snotlout crosses his arms.

"Come on, guys, I really need those herbs and Hurry! Hiccup is bleeding through everything I'm using!" He exaggerates.

"Actively dying here!" Hiccup ups the drama.

"No, he-" but before Snotlout can finish his complaint, Hookfang grabs his rider by the scruff and hauls him away. Meanwhile, Ruff and Tuff mount Barf and Belch and exclaim something about a quest before leaving. After Spitelout leaves the four of them have some peace.

A moment passes.

"Thanks, I really needed some peace and quiet," Hiccup thanks his friend.

"Oh, it's not a big deal," Fishlegs pulls the cloth away to see a fresh stream gust out of the cut. "But that cut is bleeding a lot, though."

"Don't most facial injuries?" Hiccup asks, remembering being told as such by the man in front of him.

Fishlegs regards him for a moment. He's right, but this one happens to be very deep. He presses a cleaner part of the cloth to his friend’s face, but it immediately colors a deep red. His hands are stained with it, too.

He sighs. He fears it might only stop bleeding when he stitches it.

“Meatlug,” he calls for his dragon and the Gronckle steps closer. Hiccup takes the cloth over from him to hold against his cheek as he rummages through his saddlebag looking for supplies.

-XOXOX-

“And… done!” Fishlegs remarks as he cuts the thread. The wound has been stitched and the bleeding has stopped.

Hiccup releases a breath, relieved that it's over. Just because his face was already burning as if on fire it doesn't mean that he didn't feel every sting of the needle pushed methodically into his skin or didn't feel his skin being pulled back together again.

"I'm okay, Bud," he tells his dragon. Toothless takes his paw back, he'd given it for Hiccup to take and squeeze in his lap. He licks the back of his hand. "Thanks."

"And thank you, Fishlegs. Both for stitching me up and for giving me some peace, I really needed it," he thanks him. The other Dragon Riders and Spitelout have yet to return from their mission to find botanical help.

He pats Toothless' nose.

"Oh, it's no problem, Hiccup. Really!" Fishlegs smiles at him. It's an expression Hiccup returns to the best of his ability, but it doesn't last long.

"Now we should probably find the others, catch up with Astrid before she catches up with the fleet," Hiccup says.

“Wait, right now? Hiccup, I just finished stitching you up, don’t you want to rest first?” Fishlegs asks and Toothless, too, seems to protest. He wants to chase after Astrid, too, but he would rather do it without risking his human.

“Fishlegs, it’s just a cut.”

“And it almost went down to the bone! You’re lucky you didn’t lose an eye! Or your life!” Fishlegs is exasperated. Of course, Hiccup wants to get right back up on his dragon and get to work.

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?”

At that, Toothless all but roars in Hiccup’s face. He sits up right, paws using the human’s knees for support. He glares at him while the other stares up at him in surprise.

“Exactly what I was thinking, Toothless,” Fishlegs crosses his arms. Neither of them will be letting Hiccup leave.

The man must be in a lot of pain, because he sighs in defeat and concedes. Maybe it isn’t such a good idea to go flying with his face pounding like this.

“Fine,” he says. “But we have to catch up with Astrid.”

“I’ll find the others, we’ll go after Astrid and come back for you. I promise,” Fishlegs tells him and Meatlug approaches to let him mount up. She warbles at Hiccup, who pats her nose.

“Okay… If Snotlout and the twins give you trouble, just tell them that they’ll be doing patrol for a month if they don’t do what you say,” Hiccup tells him and he nods before Meatlug takes off. They leave Hiccup and Toothless behind.

The latter curls up around the former, his head ending up on his lap. Hiccup lays his arms on top of him and his chin follows slowly.

It stays quiet between them and a part of Hiccup is glad to stay behind with his Bud.

[banditthewriter]

Bad Things Happen Bingo 2.0 - Bleeding Through The Bandages

Bleeding Through The Bandages requested by anonymous with Tommy Shelby for the @badthingshappenbingo​

621 words.

Enjoy!

***

Besides the rain outside, there wasn’t much noise in the room. You shifted a few times in the chair, but didn’t move much beyond that. It had been the same way for the last two days. Besides getting up to bathe once, you hadn’t left this room in two days.

A noise came from the bed across from you and you looked up from the book you were reading. Although he’d made a noise, Tommy hadn’t done more than that. No movement, no sign that he was waking up.

Probably for the best.

The number of bandages wrapped around his body were beyond your count. Part of you thought he looked a bit like a mummy, but you hadn’t said that to anyone. A slice of dark humor could be frowned upon in a hospital.

You weren’t really sure what happened. The police were looking into it, Arthur was looking into it, something even made you think that Polly was looking into it. Whether there were any updates, you had no idea. When anyone came into the room, they didn’t give you information. They just asked if you needed anything.

Did you need anything? Probably. You hadn’t eaten in a while, you couldn’t remember the last time you did more than doze for a few minutes at a time, but those were inconsequential. 

All you really needed was Tommy to wake up.

Whatever made Tommy Shelby so special to you, you couldn’t shake your worry for him. The two of you might not be technically together, but that didn’t stop you from loving him. And that also didn’t stop Poly and Arthur and John and the others treating you as if you were his…his something.

As if between blinks, you must have fallen asleep. You jerked awake and forced the tiredness away. There was something in your senses that took a moment to decipher.

Moaning and thrashing. You sat up and then jumped from the chair to rush over to where Tommy was jerking back and forth on the bed. He was mumbling under his breath as he tossed, words you couldn’t comprehend. Instead of focusing on that, you reached out and grabbed his shoulders.

“Tommy, it’s okay. Sweetheart, you’re okay, you’re safe.”

He nearly jerked off the bed, his eyes screwed shut as he thrashed. Between mumbles, you heard your name.

“Yes Tommy, it’s me. I’m here.”

That seemed to make him thrash more, his hands gripped on your wrists as he did. You noticed red splotches on his bandages starting to bleed through. His voice raised as he spoke, words clearer this time.

“Not safe. You’re not safe.”

That made you hesitate. He wasn’t worried about his own safety or well being, he was worried about yours. What that meant for what happened to him, you weren’t sure. Maybe that had something to do with why everyone was being so careful with you.

“It’s okay Tommy, I’m safe. I’m here with you and I’m safe, I promise.”

You hoped you weren’t wrong about that, but your only worry was him. You needed him to settle, needed him to calm down so that you could get a nurse to check his bandages. There seemed to be a lot of blood showing up now.

Tommy strained upwards, desperate to get to you. You smoothed your hand over his forehead and soothed him some more with your words. You bent down to press your lips to his cheek, his forehead, his lips; the few places not overly marred by bruises. 

You needed him to be okay. Whatever happened, whatever was coming, you needed Tommy to be safe. And it sounded like he needed you to be safe.

That’s what mattered right then.

[whumpapalooza]

Stitches & Bandages

His foot hit a root. He gasped, stumbling, and let go of the kindling under his left arm. At the same time, he instinctively held out a hand to brace for impact.

Too late, he realized he was reaching out with his bandaged arm. He couldn't stop before he grabbed the trunk of a nearby tree to steady himself.

The pain was immediate. It shot up his forearm and burned. He hissed, knees bending as he cradled his injury. His skin felt like it was splitting, blood pushing through healed tissue.

Someone called his name. There was a clatter of more kindling dropping to the forest floor, and then hands were on his shoulders.

"I'm alright," he said preemptively. He opened his eyes to smile up at his friend.

She didn't smile back. Her face was pale, eyes fixed on his bandaged arm. In a panicky voice, she said, “I thought you stopped bleeding!”

He glanced down at his forearm. A dark red stain was seeping through the wrapped layers of bandages. It was spreading quickly. "I've reopened the wound, it seems," he muttered.

[alpaca-clouds]

Bad Things Happen Bingo: Bleeding Through the Bandages

Next Bingo Square for the @badthingshappenbingo is done. This one for the prompt Bleeding Through The Bandages. It is chapter 2 for the multi-chapter fic on the bingo.

[hawkinsbnbg]

apocalypse romance

prompt: dress | word count: 350 | rated: G | @steddiemicrofic | ao3

Steve staggered as a wave of dizziness washed over him. When he blinked his eyes again, he saw Eddie hovering anxiously above him.

Weird. Since when did Eddie have a twin?

“Steve? You still with me?”

“Y– yeah,” he croaked out. “‘M fine, though.”

A lie. If it wasn't for Eddie following him out here, he knew the fall would've knocked him out cold.

At least, the others were too busy preparing for the final battle with Vecna to notice his absence.

He winced when Eddie carefully helped him sit up.

“Oh, that's not good.”

Groggily, he shifted his gaze to see Eddie frowning at a bloody hand.

“It's not my blood,” Eddie met his eyes briefly before reaching down to touch his abdomen tentatively.

Confused, Steve glanced down as well and realized the front of his t-shirt had been soaked.

“It's yours.”

Turned out, the bats had done more damage than expected. And Steve's tendency to ignore his injuries didn't help at all.

Fortunately, he managed to convince Eddie to not alert everyone about him.

Except, on one condition: he had to let Eddie treat his wounds.

“Hurt?” Eddie paused when Steve grimaced.

“A little bit,” he admitted quietly, feeling his tummy warm while watching Eddie patch him up gently.

He had seen those hands do many things, but dressing his wounds was still a first.

And oddly enough, the sight made his heart flutter.

Once Eddie finished and put the quick aid kit away, instead of stepping back to let Steve hop off the bathroom counter, he boxed Steve in with his arms.

“Think you should return me the favor, Sweetheart?”

It was meant to be a joke, but Steve still glanced up from under his eyelashes coyly.

“Will a kiss be enough?”

Eddie looked shell-shocked for a moment, but Steve's nervous smile had dispelled his apprehension.

“Two kisses,” Eddie leaned in until their lips were only a breath away.

“Okay,” Steve hooked his hands behind Eddie's neck, beaming. “Two kisses it is.”

In the end, Eddie had taken more than that. But no one heard Steve complaining.

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Whumptober 2024 No. 22- Bleeding Through Bandages | Reopening Wounds | "Oh, That's Not Good"

Hero put a hand up against the brick of the alleyway wall for balance, their other hand clutching their bleeding side. Their wound must have re-opened during the fight. They lifted their suit up, and sure enough, red seeped through hastily-applied bandages.

It would take them a while to get home and re-dress their injury. Hero was just about to turn and head that way when they felt a sharp prick in their neck. Instinctively, they reached up and felt around, pulling out a purple-banded dart.

“Oh, that's not good,” Hero mumbled.

They dropped straight to the ground with a thud, and then it was lights out.

…

Hero stirred to the distant sound of humming. They groaned and let their eyes flutter open. A dimly lit basement came into view. They felt a light pressure on their side. Hero looked down and saw-

“Vil’n?” Hero slurred.

“Mhm,” the criminal replied, then going back to their humming.

“What're you doing?”

“Putting my punching bag back together,” Villain answered, “because it obviously doesn’t know how wound tending works.”

As Villain spoke, they weaved surgical thread in and out of Hero's skin, pulling their injury shut. It had been cleaned, and they must have given Hero some sort of painkillers beforehand, because Hero could barely feel the needle sliding in and out, in and out.

“There,” Villain said, finishing.

Hero went to touch the spot, but their hand was stuck fast behind them. They went to move their other hand, but that one wouldn't budge either. In fact, now that they got a look at themselves, Hero realized they had been heavily tied to a chair.

“Didn’t want you squirming,” Villain explained, noting Hero's alarmed expression, “and I wouldn't be much of a villain if I didn’t take advantage of the situation a little bit.”

“So you’re not going to let me go after this?”

“Ha! Let you go? Hardly. You have no clue how to take care of yourself, I'm amazed you've lived this long. No, you'll be staying here until this heals. Properly.”

“You can’t just keep me in your basement for… how long do gashes take to heal?”

Villain gave them an incredulous look that screamed, “you're proving my point for me".

“For your information, I won't be keeping you in my basement for the duration of your stay. I've made arrangements for you in the guest bedroom. Try anything though, and these ropes will look like child's play compared to what I restrain you with.”

Hero gulped. They knew Villain meant it.

“But what about my job?” they asked timidly.

“Oh come now, Hero! The city isn’t going to fall to wrack and ruin just because you're not running around in costume for a little while!”

Villain produced a knife and began to cut Hero free. Once that was done, they escorted Hero upstairs to their guest bedroom. It would be a while before their wound healed completely, and Villain was prepared to do anything to keep Hero resting until then.

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[ottern0t]

(Tiny cw- nonsexual nudity) Context: i headcanon all timelords are intersex and ten got human dysphoria from being on earth so long

[callaeidae3]

A Month of Whump Winter Whumperland 2023 - Day 2: Sensory overload

A ranger/soldier collapsed in the street, dizzy. The sun is too bright, the air too static, the newly bandaged wound too itchy and bleeding...

@amonthofwhump

[whumpshots]

Whumptober #22

Trope of the day: bleeding through bandages / reopening wounds

_

“Shit,” Whumpee hisses as they feel the warmth spread and soak their bandages. Their fingers come back wet with blood when they touch the bandages around their abdomen, feeling the same sensation on their arm.

Caretaker will rip their head off …

But Whumpee had no choice than to hurry and warn the others, phones are still dead and screaming would’ve made things worse.

Cold sweat is on their forehead as they hurry towards the other building, glad that they managed to put on some dark clothes so they cannot be seen so easily while being outside in the dark.

Only a few more steps …

Swallowing hard, they take small break when they are finally inside, feeling the pain throbbing as they pull their stitches walking up the stairs. Hopefully they are not bleeding too much, otherwise Whumper’s men only have to follow their blood trail.

“What the hell are you doing here?”, Caretaker says once Whumpee pushes open the door, out of breath, adrenaline leaving their body, making their knees weak. Reaching out for Caretaker, Whumpee is caught before they can collapse.

“They found us,” is all they have to say, Caretaker already pulling them into the other room to check their wounds.

[kybercrystals94]

Six Weeks

Read here on Ao3!

Whumptober 2024 - Day 22 - Prompts: Bleeding through Bandages // Reopening Wounds

Rated: T (for mentions of injury) | Words: 1391

“You have two choices, captain. You can spend the next six weeks in medical under the careful watch of a medic to make sure you don’t do anything stupid; or, you go home for six weeks and let your brothers make sure you don’t do anything stupid.” 

Omega rolls her eyes. “You forget it was my brothers who taught me most of my ‘stupid’ stunts, Hera.” 

“Maybe,” Hera admits. “However, one look at your injuries, and I have a feeling they’ll become the most insufferable mother nexus you’ve ever seen until you’re cleared for active duty.”

“That’s not a feeling, Hera,” Omega groans, trying to shrug into her jacket with her one good arm, “That’s a kriffing fact. I’m never going to hear the end of it when they find out what happened.” 

“You haven’t told them yet?” Hera gasps, helping Omega thread her injured arm through the other sleeve. 

“Of course not. If I did, they’d be storming the base right now demanding to see me. It’s not like I’m on my deathbed, Hera. I crashed, I survived, I’m fine.”

“Your definition of ‘fine’ needs work.”

Omega slides off the medical cot, favoring her left leg. “I’ll take that into consideration while I’m forced to lie around for a month and a half.” 

“Good.”

As Omega starts to limp out of medical, Hera stops her, pulling her into an embrace, carefully avoiding Omega’s cracked ribs. “I’m so happy you’re alright, Megs.” 

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Omega mutters with a grin. 

Hera laughs. “Don’t give your brothers too much trouble, got it?” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” 

**

On General Syndulla’s orders, Omega is not allowed to fly herself back to Pabu. Instead, she is being transported by a shiny new recruit everyone calls Iggy, for whatever reason. They land in the middle of the planet’s night cycle, Omega directing Iggy to the cave that typically houses her own ship when it isn’t being held hostage by Hera. 

“Need help with your bags, captain,” Iggy asks as Omega pushes herself unsteadily to her feet. 

Omega waves him off. “It’s one bag, and I’ve got it. I’m not a complete invalid.” 

That makes Iggy grin. “Understood, captain.”

Despite protests, Iggy does help her down the ramp and hovers as Omega gets her footing on the uneven cave floor. He tries to convince her to let him walk her up to the house, but Omega insists that she’s fine. She finds one of Batcher’s long pieces of driftwood the hound has a habit of hoarding in the corner. “See, I’ve got a walking stick, I’ll be fine.” 

“If you’re sure,” Iggy relents. He gives a sloppy salute. “See you in six weeks?” 

“Six weeks,” Omega agrees. 

Omega watches him off, leaning heavily on her makeshift cane. Somehow, being so close to her brothers and their anticipated mothering makes her feel less valiant about her wounds. No matter how old she gets, how experienced she becomes, she feels like a child again with her brothers nearby to protect her. 

As she makes her way up the worn path, her injuries make themselves known. The laceration on her thigh pulses under the bandage, her sprained shoulder and elbow ache in her sling, her cracked ribs throb with every intake of air. Maybe she should have let Iggy carry her bag. 

Omega focuses on her surroundings, the familiar sound of nighttime breathing around her, the muted roll of waves on the beach. The scent of fresh air and sea laced with the sweet smell of local flora. How many dark nights did she sit with her brothers, watching the stars and listening to stories? Countless nights leaning against Hunter or Crosshair or Wrecker until she fell asleep to the rumble of their voices, to then be coaxed awake to go to bed. 

When she finally makes it to the back door, she pulls out the key already tucked in her coat pocket, and makes her way inside. She drops her bag by the door, propping her stick next to it, then limps as quietly as she can to the kitchen. She hopes to find leftover supper put away, or, better yet, cookies in the corner cupboard. 

She checks for the cookies first and finds them, plucking the box from the shelf and putting it on the counter before turning to get two cups. Right on time, the kitchen light clicks on, and Omega smiles. 

“Omega?” Hunter asks groggily. 

She doesn’t turn. “Took you long enough,” Omega says lightly. “Hungry? I was just making myself a snack.” 

“Why didn’t you tell us you were coming home?” 

“I wanted it to be a surprise. Did it work?” 

Hunter snorts. “We would’ve waited up for you if we’d known.”

“Exactly,” Omega says, moving to get out the milk, “you old guys need your sleep.” 

She hears Hunter step closer. “Omega, are you injured?” 

“I’ll be alright,” Omega says, but her body betrays her and she nearly stumbles on a side step. 

Hunter catches her bad elbow. 

The pain is immediate, and Omega tries so hard to stifle the cry that reactively comes. It only partially works, the sound escaping like a shrill whine in the back of her throat. 

“What–where are you hurt?” Hunter demands, withdrawing his grip but stepping closer. 

Omega leans against the counter, waiting for the wave of pain to fade. “Uh, that’s not a short list,” she grits out. 

“You need to sit down,” Hunter says. “Did you walk all the way here from the cavern?”

“Yeah, not the wisest decision I’ve ever made,” Omega admits. 

She finally turns around, letting the light expose her visible injuries. She hasn’t looked in a mirror recently; however, she knows must look even more awful than she feels. The look in her brother’s eyes confirms it. 

His expression tightens. “You should be in a medical bay.” 

“Well, it was that or this, and I’d take an opportunity to visit my brothers any day.” Omega lifts her good arm, and Hunter brings it over his shoulder, taking most of Omega’s weight as she hobbles into the common room. Omega is thankful he doesn’t try to carry her. 

Once she’s settled on the couch, Hunter looms over her. “Well, I’d like that long list of injuries now.” 

With a sigh, she gives it to him, doing her best not to gloss over pertinent details. When she gets to the laceration on her leg, Hunter looks down at the bandaging. “Looks like you reopened it with your little hike from the beach,” he says, and Omega glances down. A small bloom of blood stains the careful wrap. 

“Kriff,” Omega curses. 

Hunter massages the bridge of his nose, heaving a lung deep sigh. “I’ll check it over and get it re-wrapped. We’ll send for AZI in the morning.” 

Omega nods, sinking into the worn cushions. “Okay.” 

Hunter stands up, but before he leaves, he rests a hand on Omega’s head, calloused fingers tousling her hair. “It’s good to see you, kid.” 

“You too,” Omega returns softly. 

She knows her brother will take care of her, just like he always has. 

**

Omega wakes to sunlight pouring through her window. Miraculously, neither Wrecker or Crosshair woke up during the night while Hunter redressed her wounds and got her situated in bed. She can’t even remember Hunter turning out the bedroom light before she fell asleep. 

She turns her head and sees an old comm unit on her bedside table, a torn piece of flimsi propped against it. Do not get up. Call if you need anything it says in scrawled letters. Omega rolls her eyes and smiles. 

“Do you think she’s awake?” Wrecker’s version of a whisper practically rattles the door. 

“If she wasn’t, she is now,” Crosshair hisses back. 

Omega’s smile deepens. “I’m awake!” she calls out. 

The door flies open, Wrecker’s exuberant presence filling the room. “Megs! Why didn’t you tell us why you were coming?” he cries. 

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Omega says, laughing, moving to push herself up on her good elbow.

Crosshair is leaning against the doorframe, arms folded over his chest. “Liar. You just didn’t want to tell us you crashed a stolen TIE fighter.” 

“It’s a good story, I promise,” Omega assures him. 

The ex-sniper smirks at her. ��It better be.”

END

A/N: I actually had a little bit more written for this; so I might add a second part if I get that portion finished ;-;

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[whumpetywhump]

Begins ≠ Youth - Ep. 9 & 10