#internal bleeding tw

[friendlylocalwhumper]

whumptober alt. prompt no. 2: aftermath of failure

“Please, ple-, please, I can’t…” Chapped lips rasp out the faint, desperate words. Tear-beaded lashes flutter slowly. Quinn’s chin wobbles as they try to keep pleading, but can’t find the breath to.

Scar-ridged hands swipe over Quinn’s body quickly, harshly, healing magic seeking out the worst of the damage. They arch up when he presses on their stomach and finds tension that shouldn’t be there. Internal bleeding is bad, especially if they’re already pale and breathing weakly and crying from the pain.

Across the room, Tank lies vulnerable, too, rolling the back of his skull back and forth on the ground. His arms are limp under misshapen shoulders, one of his hips jutting out wrong, his chest purpling from busted ribs. He howled so loudly with each injury that Major’s head is still throbbing. If Major listens very closely, he can hear his big boyfriend moaning deep in his throat.

The brushing at Major’s hip distracts him, and his hands fall from Quinn as he turns to see that it’s Remy’s fingers brushing up against him, reaching feebly. Those big, kind eyes are full of fear, but not recognition. Blood drips down Remy’s cheek from his nose, from the corners of his eyes, from his ears. It sticks his back to the floor, too. Remy healed everyone, healed as much as he could, accepting the lashes from the whip as he went just for the chance to help his friends. Eventually he ran out of magic, and with that exhaustion came the blindness, the bleeding, the frigid skin and fading hearing.

Riku and Sonia lie in a pile where they were trying to protect each other. Sonia fought well, even better than Tank did, but when one of their captors lit up a cigarette, something in her posture changed and she got sloppy, got easier to pin. Major didn’t see what was done to the girls, but they’re being quiet and still and it’s freaking him the fuck out.

The burns across his body hurt, hurt a lot, but he almost feels numb to them right now as he sits heavily and looks over each friend, thoughts slow and jumbled. He just doesn’t know what to do.

Soft fingers keep knocking against his side. They find a shredded sleeve and tug on it, trying to pull him closer. Major jerks away from Remy’s touch, stomach flipping with guilt.

“Please,” Croaks the healer who lost his sight and hearing and too much blood from being too generous. Major slams his hands over his ears and squeezes his eyes shut, knees folding up to his chest.

He can still hear Quinn’s low weeping, and how it’s getting more and more feeble. He can hear Tank’s near-silent whines - he won’t even ask for healing, he doesn’t want anyone else to get hurt for him. The girls are too quiet, the captors are gone but not for long, and Remy’s still grasping at him.

The downed healer says something. Major growls in frustration and slides his hands up into his hair to pull on it, tugging frizzy locks in opposite directions. It makes his headache worse.

“...for me,” Continues his soft, drained boyfriend. Remy’s voice is cracking. “Ignore the - can you hear me? The pain. The, if anyone’s d-, dead… look for what’s gotta get fixed, now.”

Major tugs harder and grimaces through the burning of his scalp. Hits the side of his own head once, twice, trying to make his brain work.

Remy has found Major’s thigh and has laid his palm on it. “Bleeding out, cracked skull, ribs bending wrong, internal bleeding.” He’s rubbing Major’s leg in small swipes of his thumb. “Look at who has that.”

Reluctantly, the overwhelmed healer looks over at each body, reading tension and amount of blood spilled and varying levels of consciousness. Tank’s in so much pain, he deserves to be fixed up first, he always gets fucked up so bad protecting everyone - but Quinn’s stomach is full of blood and they’re fading, it looks like - but Riku, Sonia, are they dead or just halfway there?

He reaches down and snatches up Remy’s hand, crushing it in an anxious grip. Remy’s face crumples with discomfort and sympathy. “Weakest breaths, then.”

Instead of looking around, Major closes his eyes and listens, now. Quinn’s breathing is pretty bad. Tank’s is choppy with pain. Riku’s is quiet but even with focus. Sonia’s - he can’t hear it.

Remy’s hand is thrown aside, Quinn shoved out of the way as Major throws himself onto his feet and then skids to his knees beside the pile of two girls. Rough, impatient hands tear Riku up and back, violently unwrapping her arms from around the smaller girl. Riku whines in stress but can’t resist being manhandled, clutching at the stab wounds down her thighs.

Curled up on the floor is Sonia, short black hair ruffled, knuckles swollen, ankle twisted. Her eyes are closed and her chest is still.

He shoves two fingers up under her jaw, presses a palm over her heart, checks if her skin’s still warm. The heartbeat is weak, and… her body jolts once, weakly. An unconscious, spasmodic attempt to breathe. He yanks her jaw down, reaches down unflinchingly to try to find an obstruction in her throat, but there is none. She doesn’t react to him searching. Flustered with distress, aware that her brain could be taking damage already, he just plants one hand on her throat, the other over her lungs, and pours out the first burst of healing magic that he’s dared to use here.

The magic is soaked into her throat, tugged in by the injury, and he figures out after a second that something in there broke. The trachea or whatever. She was strangled, and everyone was too busted up or busy taking their own beating to save her.

“Fuck,” Mutters the healer, and he focuses fully on fixing the small bone. It’s less than a minute before her body rocks, tenses, and then she coughs once before sucking down a ragged breath. Her blue-tinged lips go purple.

If he’d waited another minute, if Remy didn’t help him figure out… he has to keep working, fast. Major leaves Sonia curling up on her side and choking out confused sobs, not even bothering to get to his feet, instead crawling in a wild rush to get back to Quinn. Like Remy said, internal bleeding. His hands press down over the tense stomach and pour in magic to close internal wounds, seal up organs, redirect blood where it should go. Quinn tries and fails to scream with the deep ache of it.

His own nose itches. Major swipes at it with the back of his hand and finds blood. As soon as Quinn’s stomach feels squishy like it should and they’re trying to form words, he abandons them and goes to Tank.

He didn’t even see the shape of Tank’s face from over there. Crooked jaw, crushed eye socket. It looks like he can barely breathe around the trickle of blood down his throat. One eye blinks blearily up at Major, but he doesn’t reach for his boyfriend.

Scarred hands pour out healing magic until the jaw thunks back into place, and the eye socket takes on its old shape, and the left shoulder uncrunches, and the right shoulder pops into its joint, and the hip grinds slowly until it too can be shoved back into its place. It’s odd that Tank isn’t screaming, howling in the thunderous way he did earlier. Major’s cloudy eyes flick up to inspect his boyfriend’s face, only to find that it is stretched in a scream.

A cold, twitching hand rises to feel at his own ear, and comes away bloody. Major backs away from his latest victim and swipes again, paranoid, only to find more blood dripping down from his earlobe.

Movement in the corner of his vision catches his eye, and he finds Remy trying to rise, stuck to the floor by his bloody flayed back. Nausea settles heavily in his gut and Major crawls over, slower than before, to grab his other boyfriend by the shoulders and pin him, healing him simultaneously. The golden light flows down to mend Remy’s back, and there again Major sees screaming that he can’t hear. Remy can’t hear it, either. Nearby, Quinn flinches from the sound.

Blood splatters on Remy’s cheek. For a horrifying moment Major wonders if somehow his skin was punctured from the inside as if there were an alien infesting Remy’s body. But then another small splatter appears, and he realizes his nose feels clogged. Still bleeding from there, then. At least Rem’s almost unstuck from the floor, almost able to get up and cower if he needs to.

Pain explodes in his back, and with an undignified screech that he can’t hear, Major collapses onto Remy. He’s dragged off and flipped over to gasp and blink up at the guy standing over him with a crowbar.

They can’t be back for more already. Everyone was almost dead. Major tosses his head side to side to watch as the other captors find each of his friends where they lie and drag them up, or start a new beating, or pin them to the floor. He might be yelling, might be cursing, he’s not sure. His throat aches already from whatever he’s doing in protest, but it’s hard to tell if it’s coming out coherent at all. The end of the crowbar rests against the underside of his jaw, and Major falls silent, aware of just how easily that dense metal could turn his head into soup.

He can’t hear anyone being hurt, can’t quite see the new damage with the new fuzzy dark spots floating in his vision, but as the crowbar is raised over him, Major knows that all that healing was pointless. He didn’t save anyone.

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 18 - The Shadow and The Brute

More of the Brumaria Hero/Villain AU! This one takes place much later than the first. Bruno is only mentioned, but he belongs to Izzy!

Taglist: @painful-pooch , @sssunshinebreeze

The Shadow of Death Masterlist

No. 18: Blindfold | Tortured For Information | “Hit them harder.”

Contains: lady whump, interrogation, restraints, broken bones, beating, referenced internal bleeding, burns, mild gore, flashback, parental abuse, foster care references

.

The steel rod cracks against her ribs.

“What is The Brute’s real name?”

“I don’t know.” A lie.

Again, on the other side. 

“Where does he live?”

“I don’t know.” A lie, and screw him for taking her there and making this even harder for her. 

Another hit, this time to her stomach. 

“Who else does he work with?”

“I…don’t…I don’t know.” Also a lie. This one’s her fault, though, for stalking him and his team to find out who was hurting him. 

“Oh, I think you do know. I think you know all kinds of things about the heroes, and The Brute, especially, that you’re not telling.” 

He hits her ribs again.

“I hate the heroes,” she spits. The truth. Or at least, it was the truth. Now, she honestly doesn’t know how she feels. “You know I do.” 

“It certainly doesn’t seem that way, not the way you’ve been cozying up to them lately.”

Kamaria doesn’t say anything in return, still trying to catch her breath, and there’s a pause from the rest of the room, too. She strains her ears, trying to figure out if he’s choosing a new tool or the next spot to strike. She hates being blindfolded, hates not being able to see what’s coming. Which, of course, is the exact reason why he does it. 

“Harder.” Her father’s voice. He is still in the room, then.

She catches the footstep that comes toward her and tenses in preparation, but there’s really no way she can ever be prepared. Roderick doesn’t stop to ask questions this time. He just hits her, again and again and again, all across her stomach and ribs. With her arms restrained out to each side she can’t curl in to get away from it. She can feel things breaking and bruising inside of her. She can’t take a breath for the entire time the rod is coming down, can’t scream or plead even if she wanted to. 

When it finally ends, she spends just as much time coughing, retching, and trying to gasp in any air she can get. She’d throw up if it hadn’t been days since she’s eaten anything. 

“What is The Brute’s real name?” 

Bruno. His name is Bruno, two whole letters different from Brute because he’s an idiot.

“Where does he live?”

In a bachelor pad apartment, second floor, on Broad Street.

All she has to do is say that out loud, and it ends. For literally half of her life, fourteen years, she’s done whatever it takes to protect herself. Played the perfect, obedient foster child even when the families had already decided she was a troublemaker for having superpowers. Learned to fight and to kill from the villains. Went on all of their missions, whether they fit her own agenda or not. Followed all of their rules as best she could and gave in to their demands.

But she can’t give in this time. She doesn’t care what they do to her, not when the alternative is them doing the same and worse to the only man who’s ever treated her with kindness. He’s far more worth protecting than herself.

This time she doesn’t hear him approaching and is caught off guard by a hand burying itself in her curls, yanking her head backwards. Her quick intake of breath throbs in her ribs. 

“I will make you talk. You and I have been at this game for far too long for me not to win in the end.” 

The cold tip of the rod presses into her bare stomach, and she bites down hard on her lip to keep from crying out. There’s no way that she isn’t bleeding internally somewhere. The only good news is that he’ll know that, too, which means that surely this session won’t last too much longer. They want her alive, after all. For now.

“I have a meeting to attend,” her father announces coldly. “Do whatever you need to do to get results.” A door opens, then closes again. 

Her hair is released, and there’s a loud clank as the rod is tossed aside. It’s simultaneously a relief to know that part is over and terrifying to wonder what’s next. 

“All you have to do is tell me what you know about The Brute, and this will all be over.” 

She feels the heat a split second before it fully hits her. Fire envelops her right side, spreading from her waist all the way up to her shoulder and out across her arm. Kamaria throws her head back and screams. Her skin is blistering, charring. She’s half in the past, half in the present, watching her childhood home go up in flames while losing her footing and dangling from the chains.

“Where does The Brute live?” Roderick is shouting.

She can’t stop screaming. Mom…Mom please…

His hands are on her face, still warm from using his power. She didn’t even realize he’d stopped. It still feels like she’s on fire, the intensity of the heat hasn’t let up at all. She isn’t screaming anymore, but she’s groaning, sobbing, trying desperately to get herself back under control while visions of her mother are pressing at her mind and most of her body is in excruciating pain. 

Chains rattle, and one wrist is freed. She drops to the floor on top of a leg that was broken two days ago, but hardly feels it over the burning in her side and arm. The left wrist is released, but she’s dragged backwards by that arm until her back hits the wall and it’s restrained again, just above her head. 

Her right shoulder feels strange. Dislocated, probably. She can’t distinguish that pain from the pain of her skin. 

She doesn’t know she passed out until he slaps her across the face to wake her up. “Here. Take it.” Something heavy is deposited in her lap. She knows almost immediately what it is, but it takes a moment for her to convince her arm to move. The skin pulls, and she nearly whines aloud. “Hurry up.”

Her hand shakes as it finds the stem of the plant he gave her, clutching on tightly. One of these days,  he’s going to go too far, and she won’t be able to use her power to save herself. Then where will he and her father be?

At least then Bruno will be safe.

The energy she siphons from the plant is warm as it floods her body. It’s usually somewhat soothing. Right now, more heat is the last thing she wants to feel. But she keeps going, pulling all she can, knowing this is the only chance she gets until he nearly kills her again in a day or two. 

Energy does nothing for pain, unfortunately. When the plant goes limp in her hand, completely spent, she feels very little difference from when she started. But she should be stable now. The energy will jumpstart her body’s natural healing process, allowing it to work faster than usual so that she doesn’t actually die.

It’s their failsafe. Their excuse for continuing to torture her for as long as they want. 

Her arm drops back down by her side, and the plant is removed from her lap. Her head lolls against the concrete block wall. Roderick rips the blindfold suddenly off her face, taking strands of hair with it, and pinches her chin between his fingers so that he can look into her eyes.

“This is just going to keep happening until you cooperate and tell us what we want to know. Is that what you want? To keep being in this kind of pain?”

She doesn’t have the strength to answer him.

Releasing her chin, he stands, looking down at her. “Think about it. I’ll be back before you know it.”

[easthavenhq]

East Haven's 4th of July Firework Show Accident

Everything was normal as Mayor Clairmont announced the start of the fireworks show. The crowds watched from the boardwalk, their seats on rides, boats around the lake, or around the park as the colors lit the night sky over Primrose Lake. Around 9:47pm, however, things took a turn...

Welcome to East Haven's second plot drop! Due to the nature of the plot, more details as well as those with serious injuries will be listed under the cut. Reminder that minor injuries are open and anyone could have them. If you have any questions, let us know!

Triggers for under the cut: Fireworks, explosion, fire, drowning, blood, surgery, injuries including: concussions, burns, broken bones, internal bleeding, head injuries

As the fireworks show started to get ready for the big finale, two local teens decided to go down and rearrange some of the fireworks. The person in charge of the fireworks saw them and in the panic of things, the fireworks got knocked over and started shooting towards the crowd. Panic ensued while the worker tried to stop it, but the fire extinguisher tried to get it out. Finally, someone ran up and pushed the rest in the water, stopping the threat, but not stopping the chaos.

Throughout the panic, rides were left without someone to stop them, booths were caught on fire, and people were running everywhere for cover. Multiple injuries have been reported ranging from minor to more severe ones and here is the details on those:

While working with his fellow firefighters, Callum Jackson was trying to help some volunteers out of Heart & Seoul's food booth when the whole thing came down. The volunteers were able to escape, but Callum ended up getting a broken arm, cracked ribs, and had to be taken into emergency surgery for internal bleeding.

Beyza Senkan was watching the fireworks with Diego Castro and their son, Devrim, when the fireworks started towards them. Devrim fell into the water and being the swimmer she is, Beyza jumped right in. At the same time, a vendor selling balloons pushed his cart to get out of the way and it fell into the water after them. While she was able to get Devrim, her ankle got caught in the some string of the booth and it started pulling on her as it was wrapped around a tank of helium. She passed Devrim to Diego and not wanting either to panic, said she'd swim down the dock to get up and told Diego to get their son out of there. She ended up going under to try to get loose, but the cart kept making her sink further down. Emre Ediz, his daughter seeing what happened, ran over and dove into the water and helped Beyza get loose, but not before she lost consciousness. He performed CPR on her and saved her life.

Reagan Flores was on the Ferris wheel with Dana Allen-Lopez when a firework hit it; causing it to stop and more coming at them. Trying to get them down, Reagan started climbing down the ride, only for more fireworks to head her way. At one point, one came close to her causing her to fall from where she was, landing on her feet: breaking her leg and ankle. She also suffered burns from the firework as it exploded against the Ferris wheel.

Seeing the panic, Chantel Bedford started helping people get out of the line of fire in the fireworks. As a firework hit Busy Bee's booth, she went to get out of the way only to shatter her ankle in the process; leaving her unable to move and giving her burns as well from the firework. She ended up needing minor surgery to fix her ankle.

During the chaos, Piper Fulton was riding on the Paratrooper when the person in charge of it abandoned the ride, leaving it going around and around. Debris from the Ferris wheel breaking landed on the ride causing it to stop and the people riding started to get off. From her height, she ended up falling and breaking her leg.

Simon Heywood was knocked around when the people of East Haven started to panic from the uncontrolled fireworks. In the midst of all of this, he fell to the ground where he sustained some cuts from debris. After he got back up from running, he side swept a pole trying to dodge more people and dislocated his shoulder in doing so because of the quick and hard blow to it.

When the chaos started, people started to run away from the fireworks and Lenny Clairmont was in the middle of it all. Looking for her husband in her own panic, she was knocked over by people and left on the ground. No one was paying attention to her as they stumbled over her multiple times. Lenny was not found until after the people had cleared out from the area and she will be left unconscious for several days with bruisings on multiple areas of her body.

As fireworks ended up in places that people didn't expect, Daisy Levitt came to the rescue while she was working around the Whack A Mole game at the carnival. She saw that people were panicking and running for safety. Due to her nature, she went into firefighter mode and began helping people get to safety without much regard to her own. While doing so, she sustained several burns that she had to get checked out at the hospital.

While trying to escape the chaos, a firework started to head towards Roman Rhodes, expelling shrapnel as well, who was watching the show with Andrew Jackson. Noticing a firework heading their way, Roman used his body as a shield to protect Andrew and got hit. This ended up with him having serious burns on his back and smaller ones on his left arm and left side of his face.

Viktor Pierce was trying to escape the park when a firework hit the Whac-a-Mole game and the debris hit him in the head, leaving in him unconscious for several minutes. Upon being looked at by EMTs, it was told he had a severe concussion.

Attraction Damage

The Ferris Wheel was running at the time of the fireworks show. Upon being hit by a firework, it stopped working and then was hit again minutes later.

The Paratrooper was running as well and was abandoned by the person running it. Broken parts from the Ferris Wheel got into the parts of the ride and ended up stopping it.

The Plane Ride was quickly stopped by the operator and parents got their kids off as quick as possible. Moments later, a firework hit the ride. No kids were harmed.

The Whac-a-Mole, Ball in a Bucket, and Busy Bee Botanical's booths were all hit by fireworks, causing them to burn.

Heart & Seoul Korean BBQ's booth was hit by a firework and collapsed while burning.

Davino's and Barb's Bistros booths were hit with fireworks as well.

The Aftermath

On July 5th, volunteers gathered at the park and helped clean up despite the rain. With everyone working together, the rides that were able to started running that afternoon after tests were done. However, the rides, games, and food booths above are closed for the rest of the carnival.

Everything on the lists were chosen at random.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Why Not Us?

Bleeding in Moonlight: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six |

CW: Memories of mass murder, some internalized dehumanization, survivor’s guilt

-

Misae made it to the little bedroom before the moon rose, thankfully. He nearly tripped over the strange mattress on the floor, the one they’d blown up with air and then thrown blankets and pillows on. It was meant to be his bed, he thought, which made sense.

Anaya might let him on the real bed, but not to sleep. Wolves, like dogs, slept on the floor. It would be lonely, but it would make sense. Almost nothing did, now. Sitting in chairs, eating pizza instead of having to shift to eat the raw meat thrown into the kennels, wearing clothes and being asked if he would like something to drink… they didn’t seem to know what he was, to understand. 

He could hear them now, Eden, Anaya, and Vanessa, from down the hall. They talked and laughed, and Misae felt hollowed out at the sound, wishing he could be there with them.

Maybe there would be more pizza.

He laid one hand on his stomach. It felt… almost rounded. He’d never eaten so much or so well, not in all the life he had lived. He hadn’t had to fight over any of it, either. There hadn’t been the need to snarl and posture, or crawl on his belly and lick at an older wolf’s mouth, hoping they’d give him a few scraps out of pity or some dim affection.

The moon’s slow rise made him restless, bouncing on his toes as he tried to decide where he could safely change. The room was small, but he could fit under the big bed if he was smart about it. 

But then the humans would get into the bed, and if the mattress dipped low it might force him back out.

The call to shift prickled under his skin, and Misae stripped his shirt and pants off before it could take hold and leave him confused and trapped in the cloth. He tossed the sweatpants and shirt onto the bed just as he felt his spine begin to bend.

It always felt so good, when the shift started. Like waking up after a good sleep, coming back to where you belonged. He had always been meant to walk on four legs, and the human side was only what he was allowed for good behavior.

He leaned over, a sensation like goosebumps running up and down his arms and legs, setting his hair on end. The healing wound in his leg throbbed but some of the pain felt more distant as he changed.

It wasn’t that the wound disappeared, it was only that his wolf body knew how it felt to be injured with silver far better than his human body did. It knew how to ignore the pain, how to keep moving, because to let the pain take you was to be singled out to die. Wolves who were too hurt to keep going were wolves that starved, his instincts knew it. Wolves who starved died.

Everyone died anyway. It hadn't mattered how good they were when Bill didn't want them any longer.

He shuddered and shoved that thought aside. He couldn’t think about his family, not now. It would overtake him and he’d just be trapped in the grave in his mind, even if his body was here still breathing.

He couldn’t think about dozens of flat blank eyes, frozen in mute horror. He couldn’t think about the warmth still lingering in the stiffening bodies pressed all around him, about how Nina had tried to cover him and hide him from the shots even as she had been bleeding to death herself. 

Had Nina been his real mother?

It was possible. Their fur was the same, their eyes were the same. But some of the other wolves had fur and eyes like his, too. But... maybe Nina had been his mother.

Maybe she had known it, if only at the end, and tried to save the one pup she could.

The humans had tried to ruin them to each other, make them hurtful and hateful, but the wolves had found a way to love, anyway. In secret, when it was safe, and at the end when nothing was safe and it didn’t matter any longer there was one more way to love that Bill couldn't take from them.

It made no difference if you loved when you would lose each other anyway. In the end, the werewolves had loved each other, and it hadn’t saved any of them.

Except him.

Misae closed his eyes, stretching his shifting muscles and forcing himself to leave the dead behind, for now anyway. For as long as he could. 

Bones cracked and broke beneath his skin, painlessly reforming. Misae dropped to a crouch and leaned his weight forward on his hands, feeling bare, vulnerable fingers change to rougher paw pads and clicking nails. He stretched his front legs until the muscles stretched and burned and sighed, contented by the feeling.

Canine teeth lengthened and his ears grew. He twitched one just to feel it, exhaling a rough sigh as his tongue briefly lolled out. Fur spread over skin like a blanket, a little patchy but still warming his chilly body, and the bed on the floor called to him. He was tired, and the killing back at Bill’s house kept trying to worm its way past his moments of comfort and warmth in this new place, with these new people.

If he laid still, it would catch up with him, and he didn’t want Anaya or Eden to hear how wolves mourned, how they cried. He didn’t know if they would still comfort him then, or if they would turn angry at the sounds, or learn to hate him. Bill’s family hated the sound of the mourning wolves, beat them for their weeping in human form or for their howls as wolves. 

Who knew what regular humans would do? 

Misae only knew that Anaya and Eden had been kind, so far. But so had Aaron, sometimes - Bill’s youngest son had been known to scratch behind a wolf’s ears when none of the other humans were looking. Even Austin had once bandaged Misae’s leg after he’d gotten it caught in a fence and bled.

That didn’t make them any kinder when the werewolves broke the rules, rules no one ever said out loud but simply expected the wolves to learn by being beaten when they were broken until they figured them out. It had never stopped Austin from calling them all names, or laughing when they fought.

Human kindness always had limits. 

Always.

Even as he became the first form he ever knew, the stalking werewolf that Bill had never been able to separate from the boy whose body the wolf shared, Misae knew he had to hide. Not from Anaya or Eden, who had already seen him as a wolf. Not because he feared them.

He had to hide because they didn’t know to fear him.

Misae’s nose turned black and scents exploded into the world around him. What had before been just the light smell of cleaning products and maybe a pumpkin-scented candle was now a collection of stories he could read in the air and along the ground. Vanessa had walked in here to set up the mattress, having forgotten to take her shoes off after getting the mail. Misae could smell the grass she had stepped on, scent the slight shift in her smell of frustration when it took a long time to get the air pump working to set up the mattress. He could smell, on the mattress, long months spent idle with no need to be used. The faintest smell of a camping trip, some time in the past - the last time the air mattress had been needed.

The way his sense of smell changed was always what gave away when it was time to find somewhere to hide, before the silver light could touch his fur and call to him. It would make him want to run, to howl and see if any other wolves were nearby to answer.

What would he do if they were?

He had known only his own family. He’d never seen any werewolves that didn’t huddle together in the kennels, fighting over the barest hints of kindness shown to them by Bill and his family. If he met a free wolf, he might simply lay down, show his belly, and wait for them to tear out his throat when they smelled the kennels on him. 

Misae paced restlessly around the small room, limping and trying to keep weight off his injured leg, snuffling against the ground, tracing the hints of Eden and Anaya in here and then following the softer smell of Vanessa until he found the closet door was cracked open.

Perfect. Like a den.

He had to paw at it, whining softly with his ears flat against his head, looking nervously at the patch of moonlight that seemed to head inexorably in his direction. His heart raced beneath his fur at the sight. 

Bill had always said, over and over again, never let the moonlight touch you. It was the only rule the humans told the werewolves, and taught to the pups before they were put into the main kennels. During the full moon, for three nights, they would huddle together inside big wooden boxes that formed a kind of den. Anyone caught outside the den, by Bill or by the cameras, would be punished.

It was the first thing Misae remembered learning, while still toddling around on four short legs, a few weeks after birth. Never let the moonlight touch you. He'd broken the rule running from the guns, from the grave of his family. He'd broken the rule running from Austin. But… that had been different, hadn’t it?

Hadn’t it?

Misae clambered clumsily over a pile of cardboard boxes, blowing harshly through his nose as things packed inside clattered around. He pushed at them with his snout until he had made for himself a sort of barrier, protecting him from the world outside this tiny space. He turned in a circle and then laid down, ears flat, shimmering amber-brown eyes watching the silvery light that cut across the bed through the open doorway.

Beneath his nose, soaked into the floorboards years ago, he could smell a hint of a rose perfume. Left by some other person, long before any of the familiar smells of Vanessa's life had entered this place.  

The scent made him shudder, heart going cold.

Bill's wife Ada wore rose perfume. 

The smell of roses, for the children in the puppy kennels, meant one of you might vanish that day. Ada sometimes took them, luring them out with treats and soft words until she could get the loop around their necks to pull tight, leading them on the leash inside.

She mostly brought them back, after sticking needles to take blood or give what she called 'medicine' that put the puppies to deep sleep and left them groggy and confused upon waking. She mostly brought them back.

But not always.

Rose perfume drifting on the air was sometimes all the warning they got before a pup disappeared. 

The memories made him tremble and he whined softly, but quieted the sound as fast as he could. It was something all of them learned, not just how to hide from the moonlight but also how to be so quiet that none of the men and women inside the house could hear and think of them.

They all learned how to be, if only temporarily, forgotten.

Now Misae was the only left for Bill and his family to remember. He wondered if Bill would come for him, still. Try to find him. Or if, now that he'd outrun Austin, he'd let Misae go into a world where nobody was left to even love him in secret any longer.

It was Eden and Anaya he needed to hide from now. Not because they might hurt him, but because he might hurt them. Wolves were most dangerous when the moon was full, calling on their nonhuman blood. 

It made them monsters - hungry, mindless killers. 

Everyone knew that.

Bill made sure everyone knew that. 

He watched the moonlight’s slow crawl along the small room until his eyes drifted shut and he dozed off, his tail flicking occasionally. Once the moon began to set in the morning, just as the sun rose, he’d be able to be a boy again. Until then, he could relax into the form he was far more comfortable in even if he had been painstakingly taught to fear what it was capable of.

He slept deeply enough to have fuzzy, formless dreams. He was beneath all of his family, trying to crawl out from under them. They called for him, cried for help, whined and whimpered and shouted and cursed. 

The air was being slowly crushed out of him, and he desperately tried to get out from beneath the weight of their deaths, their memories.

He looked up to see straight down the barrel of Austin’s shotgun, the black within the metal circle, holding his death.

Found you, Austin said, softly. Time to go, Rusty.

Fingers touched the top of his head.

Misae?

He jolted awake and snapped out of sheer instinct, ears flat in a flash and teeth clicking together. He didn’t quite catch anything, but as his eyes opened, he saw Anaya looking down at him, eyes wide, her hand jerked back against her chest. 

“Misae?” She repeated, voice a little shakier this time. She was wearing sleeping clothes, and Eden was just behind her, wearing only a pair of low-slung sweatpants that had Misae looking in jealousy at skin only scarred along the underside of his chest, two odd half-circle shapes that didn’t mean anything to Misae’s mind. “Holy shit.”

“DId he bite you?” Eden asked, an edge to his voice. “Anaya, if he bit you-... isn’t that how it-... it spreads?”

Misae curled up tighter, whimpering, his heart picking back up into a pounding race that made him dizzy. He tucked his tail as tightly as he could and looked up with his chin pressed against the floor, licking at his chops nervously.

 “Naya? Did he-”

“No, he didn’t,” Anaya replied, frowning back at Eden, before dropping into a crouch. “And we don’t know that that's how it spreads, or whatever. Or even if it does spread. Who even knows what’s real and what isn’t about werewolves?”

“Before yesterday, I would have told you nothing is real about werewolves,” Eden said, hovering behind her. 

“And you would have been wrong, wouldn't you. Besides, he was asleep. I woke him up, that’s on me, not him. Hey, Misae. Hey there, honey.” Her voice softened, and she shoved some of Misae’s barrier of boxes aside, until she could hold out her hand and lay it down with knuckles on floor and palm facing up, between them. “It’s okay, honey. It’s just me. Are you good? We were worried when we didn’t see where you’d gone. You were making some noise in here, I thought maybe something was wrong.”

Misae’s nose twitched. He eased forward, belly to the ground, until he could slowly lay his chin in her palm. She let one finger gently scratch at the soft fur there and he whined. 

“He’s okay,” Anaya whispered. “I scared you, huh? You were having bad dreams, I bet. Don't blame you, this has been a really weird day. Just... the weirdest. Can I ask why you're here in the closet?”

“There’s a joke about being a closeted werewolf in there somewhere, but I’m honestly not awake enough to make it,” Eden said, but he moved back until he could sit on the bed. He didn’t quite relax, not yet, but the space helped Misae to feel a little safer. Eden didn’t look - or smell - angry. 

“Oh, shut up,” Anaya said, rolling her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched into a smile. She wasn’t angry, either. “And don’t spend all night coming up with it, either. I don’t want to hear it when we wake up.”

“Well, now I have to come up with something. I have to come up with something and have it be the literal first thing I say to you when we wake up,” Eden teased, flopping himself backwards onto the bed and wriggling under the blankets, sighing happily when he was covered up. “Oh, this comforter weighs a ton. Perfect.”

“For someone who likes to sleep in the absolute wilderness like a caveman, you sure love a weighted blanket.” Anaya snorted.

"If I'm a caveman, that means you like a caveman." Eden grinned. "Ha ha, you're in love with a Neanderthal," He sing-songed. Anaya threw up a middle finger over her shoulder in his general direction, and Eden's smile only widened.

Misae wondered what a Nee-ander-tal was as his eyes flicked to the side, taking in the window, looking for the moonlight. To his relief, the curtains were closed.

The room was dark, now, except for a small lamp they’d turned on by the bed. There was no chance of the moon catching at his fur, calling him to hunt, to rip and tear and rend. 

Misae pushed himself slowly onto his feet, ignoring his throbbing back leg. Anaya smiled at him, and it felt like a reward. His heart beat faster for new reasons, and he followed her as she eased back and away from the closet, pushing past the boxes. 

When Anaya sat on the air mattress on the floor, Misae moved slowly onto it as well until he could lick at the corners of her mouth with his tail tucked underneath him. She laughed and pushed lightly at him, and he moved to lay on his side, paws curled to show her his stomach, baring his vulnerable throat.

“He likes you,” Eden commented idly from up on the bed. “Pretty sure that’s wolf for ‘you’re cool, let’s be buds.’ Also I think it means he thinks you're in charge."

"I am in charge," Anaya said, voice haughty, but there was laughter lining every word. "It's good that both you boys know it."

Misae shifted back onto his stomach and curled back up until his tail covered his nose. Anaya smiled at the sight, reaching out to scratch the top of his head. Misae sighed, eyes drifting closed again. He relaxed under the gentle affection. “There you go. All right, what matters is that you're okay. Let’s try to get some sleep, yeah? All three of us.”

He watched her stand up, ears drooping as she climbed into the real bed, next to Eden. He watched her get under the blanket, laying next to Eden. He laid on the floor where wolves belonged, missing the warmth of his family. Missing the den. Alone, here, on the ground. Werewolves weren't meant to be alone - he knew that, not from Bill or Austin but from how perfect it had felt in the den, in the kennels, when they were all together.

Anaya turned off the lamp, and darkness overtook the room.

The humans, he thought, would be blind in the dark. Misae could see everything, though. He could see the silvery moonlight held back by the curtains, could see Eden’s chest rise and fall, slowing as he slipped into sleep. He could see that Anaya stayed awake a while longer.

He listened to her breathing, holding back his whimpers until it slowed and deepened and he knew he wouldn't wake her. He could lay here, alone.

Well.

Not entirely alone. 

His family was here, even if they weren’t. They would never leave him, not fully, not all the way. Even now he could feel them nosing around him trying to find a comfortable spot. He knew the pressure of their bodies around him like he knew his own paws. He could feel their chill breath on his neck, the soft nuzzle of affection that he would never really feel again. He could sense snuffles and whines, jostles for position that sometimes ended with playful snarling and rumbling growls. He could feel Nina’s weight on top of him. Feel her body jerk with the shots she had taken that he hadn’t. He could hear them, in his heart, howling just outside the little house.

He could hear their cries, begging him to join them. He should have slept for the last time in the big grave with the rest of them. He had been meant to die with his family. He wasn't the fastest in his family, the smartest, the best hunter. He wasn't anything better than anyone else.

There was no reason for him to survive, no special ability or way of being he had that made him deserve this bed with its soft blankets when everyone he loved was quiet and cold in the ground, covered in dirt and decomposing now.

He hadn’t deserved to meet kind humans. He didn’t deserve to eat pizza until his stomach ached and sit in chairs. He didn't deserve hot water to clean the dirt and blood from his skin. Others in his pack had deserved it so much more, and they had been given silver bullets instead, and now...

Now Misae was the only one left who remembered them.

He closed his eyes against the way the darkness wanted to change shape, to make him see his dead family with all the blood and bullets. He listened to their wistful, spectral howls, just outside the window. Calling and calling and calling, crying to him and to each other.

Why you? Why not us, instead? Why not the little pups, why not the mothers, why not the older wolves who had been good for so long? You were never all that good. What about you deserved to live? Why not us?

Why was it you?

Anaya and Eden slept together.

Misae slept with ghosts.

-

@finder-of-rings  @burtlederp @deluxewhump @scoundrelwithboba @shrimpwritings 

@yassifiedinformation @wildfaewhump @whatwhump @honeycollectswhump @tundra-tiger

@dont-look-me-in-the-eye @there-will-always-be-blood @fangedcinnamonroll @pigeonwhumps @yassifiedinformation

[cora-of-the-reef]

-What Cora would see a humanoid Shellipup walk in. He’s in great physical pain and can barely stand up right. He’s got blood all over his clothes- “𝔖-𝔖𝔒 𝔘𝔐- 𝔄ℜ𝔈 𝔐𝔜 𝔇𝔄𝔇’𝔖 𝔖-𝔖ℑ𝔖𝔗𝔈ℜ? ℑ- ℑ’𝔐 𝔄 𝔅𝔘𝔗 ℭ𝔒𝔑𝔉𝔘𝔖𝔈𝔇- 𝔘-𝔘ℌ ℑ𝔐 𝔊ℑ𝔐𝔏ℑ! ℑ- 𝔇𝔒𝔑’𝔗 𝔘𝔖𝔘𝔄𝔏𝔏𝔜 𝔏-𝔏𝔒𝔒𝔎 𝔏ℑ𝔎𝔈 𝔗ℌℑ𝔖-”

(Translation: S-so um- are you my dad’s s-sister? I- I’m a bit confused- U-uh I’m Gimli! I- Don’t usually l-look like this)

Goddesses above, what did they do to you?

-Cora walks over to Gimli-

I’m no healer but I can ease the pain at the least… though that won’t fix it

-Cora casts a spell on Gimli, allowing him to feel less pain than before. Cora takes Gimli’s arm and leads him to Rudith’s room-

Try not to speak too much, it could cause you to vomit more. We don’t want the crystals to cut you on the way up…

-She knocks on Rudith’s door-

(Ooc: @herbesandseafoam ur child has tummy ache. Help)

[serickswrites]

No Trace

Warnings: captivity, restraints, torture, unconsciousness, rescue, blood, blood from the mouth, mcd, hurt/no comfort

Caretaker's whole body ached. Everything ached. Everything had been aching for so long, they weren't sure if it would ever stop aching. They had been hog tied for so long, their hands and feet had gone numb. Their back ached from being stretched the wrong way. Everything was pain.

Their pain didn't compare to Whumpee's though.

Caretaker couldn't see Whumpee. But they could hear Whumpee. Could hear every whimper, every cry of pain, and every single blow Whumper inflicted on them.

"It's going to be ok, Whumpee, someone will be coming for us soon," Caretaker had said hours ago when Whumper had left the two of them alone.

"Y-Y-Yeah?" Whumpee finally managed to rasp out. Their voice was so hoarse, no doubt their throat was painfully raw from all the screaming.

"Yeah. You just need to hold on. Someone will find us."

"I....I don'ttttt know. Hurtsssss."

Caretaker's heart hurt at the sound of despair in Whumpee's voice. "Don't lose hope, Whumpee. Someone will find us soon. I just know it."

Whumper had returned not that long after and had resumed torturing Whumpee. Caretaker had yelled and hollered at Whumper, but Whumper paid them no mind. They only had eyes for Whumpee.

The next time Whumper left, Whumpee hadn't responded to Caretaker. Caretaker knew Whumpee was still alive because they could still hear Whumpee's wheezing breaths. Perhaps Whumper had tortured them until they fell unconscious.

Caretaker hated the silence. It was painful. Painful as they waited and listened for Whumpee's next breath. Painful as they waited and hoped for help to arrive. And painful because there was nothing they could do but wait and hope.

The sound of the door banging open had Caretaker jumping. They had to get Whumper to hurt them. Had to get Whumper to give Whumpee a break. They had to. "ME!" They shouted. "Hurt me!"

"We're not here to hurt you," an unfamiliar voice came.

Relief flooded Caretaker in waves. They were saved. They were saved. Whumpee was saved. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you," Caretaker repeated over and over. Whumpee was safe. Help was here. Help had arrived.

"My friend," Caretaker said as a pair of boots came into their field of vision, "how's my friend?"

The person knelt down. "Let's worry about getting you out of these ropes for now."

"Please, help my friend!" Caretaker tried to struggle, but they couldn't move.

"They're being helped, don't worry. Let me help you."

"Are they ok, please, tell me they're ok!" Caretaker said as their rescuer disappeared from their field of vision.

"Yes, they're fine. They're being helped. Are you hurt?"

Caretaker sagged with relief. Whumpee was being helped. Whumpee was going to be fine. "No. Not really."

Caretaker could hear boots thundering into the room. They tried to crane their neck to see what the commotion was, but their rescuer began to talk to them again. Caretaker answered all of their questions. Though the other rescuers were loud, it took all of Caretaker's concentration to answer their rescuer's questions.

"There you go, all free," the rescuer said as they cut through the last piece of rope keeping Caretaker down. "Move carefully, I imagine you've been tied up for a while."

Caretaker's limbs were on fire as feeling came back. They cried out with pain. "Are you sure you aren't injured? Let me check you out."

"I'm fine," Caretaker hissed. "Whumpee. I need to see Whumpee."

Before their rescuer could stop them, Caretaker quickly rolled over and began to crawl towards where they thought Whumpee was. They took a stumbling step as they rose. Whumpee. They wanted to see Whumpee.

Caretaker froze once they finally lifted their head and could see Whumpee. "NOOOOOOOO!" Caretaker screamed, their weak limbs nearly giving out.

Whumpee lay on the ground, arms splayed out to the sides. They were completely still and unmoving. Blood dried on their nostrils and ears, but was still wet on their lips. But what had Caretaker screaming, had Caretaker crawling their way over, was Whumpee's eyes. Whumpee's half-lidded, lifeless eyes.

One of the rescuers that had gathered by Whumpee peeled off, attempting to stop Caretaker. "You don't want to see them like this, let me--"

"I NEED TO SEE THEM!" Caretaker sobbed.

The rescuer nodded. "Let me help you over to them, then."

Caretaker was too weak to fight against the hands that helped them to stand. Too weak to fight as they were guided to Whumpee's side. And they were too weak to fight as they could finally see all of Whumpee.

"I'm so sorry," Caretaker sobbed as they took Whumpee's hand in theirs. Whumpee's fingers were cool and limp. "Please, Whumpee, please."

Caretaker turned to one of the rescuers. "Do something! Help them! Please, do something!"

One of them knelt down next to Caretaker, putting a gentle hand on their shoulder. "They succumbed to their injuries before we got here. There had to be massive amounts of internal bleeding. I'm so sorry."

Succumbed to their injuries before help arrived. Whumpee had died hours ago and Caretaker hadn't even known. Caretaker had lied to Whumpee. Had given Whumpee false hope. Had Whumpee died hopeful that help would arrive at any moment? Caretaker stared into Whumpee's empty eyes. There was no trace of Whumpee in those eyes.

"Where's Whumper?"

"They're gone. They left no trace. It's like they didn't even exist. If you weren't here, if Whumpee wasn't....well, like this, I would have guessed this place had been abandoned for years."

Gone. Whumper was gone. Whumpee was gone. Everything was gone. Caretaker squeezed Whumpee's fingers tightly. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@artisticdemon

[wellthisissomething]

AI-Less Whumptober Day 28 - Internal Bleeding/Needle and Thread

Duel - Ep. 3

Kkondae Intern - Ep. 8

Fireworks of My Heart - Ep. 5

Seobok (2022)

Heavenly Idol - Ep. 6

Previous 28/31 Next

[t-errifier]

survived my final shift in the pharmacy

[whumpetywhump]

The Sign - Ep. 8

[angel-dust-addict]

@radi0activesmile continued from here.

Alastor didn't understand. That didn't surprise Angel, really, but it did frustrate him. Alastor did not understand. He didn't understand how this worked, he didn't understand how Val worked, he didn't understand Angel's history with the other overlord. That wasn't surprising. But it was frustrating.

"Damnit, Al, that's not the point." The comment didn't come out sounding sharp or angry. Rather, there was just an unspeakable fatigue in Angel's voice. A sort of exhaustion that went clean to the bone. "I know what Val's like. I been wit' tha bastard fa' almost 50 years. Ya really think this's tha first time he's pulled this shit? Nah, babe. He's done this a few times. He gets pissed 'cause I'm gettin' too independent'r some shit, so he reminds me'a my place. I gotta go back, toe tha line a little, show 'im I've learned my lesson... He still ain't gonna be happy wit' me, but if I show 'im I rememba' who owns me, he'll leave me tha hell alone. Much as he eva' does, anyway."

Finally he looked up at Alastor. When he did, there was no anger in his expression. He just looked tired and stressed. "I don't want'cha involved. Not any more'n ya already are. I know ya ain't weak. That ain't tha point. I don't wanna be tha reason ya get hurt. I don't want'cha puttin' yerself in danger if ya don't gotta."

His miserable gaze dropped back to the bubbles. "'Sides, it's safa' fa' me, too. He'll just get pissed if I don't show. An' that'd basically be tellin' him I ain't learned a damn thing."

And that he might not survive. If Val thought he had lost control of Angel, the moth would kill him. It was that simple. He was much more valuable to Val alive, but not if Val couldn't control him.

"This ain't even tha worst thing he's eva' done." That comment was almost too quiet to hear. "'S betta' ta just keep 'im happy 'til we figuah out how ta get rid of him."

He didn't want to think about what else Val had done to him in order to maintain control. That was too much to think about, especially right now. He knew Alastor wouldn't like being told no. But it was safer to tell the stag no than to try to tell Val no.

So he would go back. He would go back and he would play his part and they would figure out how to kill the moth. But for now, he had to go back. Whether or not Alastor thought he should or not. This was not a fight he wanted to have, but it was also a risk he did not want to take.

[erabundus]

rolling  around  the  idea  that  when  he  sustains  severe  injuries,  there's  a  chance  you  may  actually  glimpse  tiny  flashes  of  electro  emanating  from  the  wound  as  ren's  body  acts  to  repair  the  damage.  it  doesn't  happen  often  —  only  in  situations  wherein  the  trauma  is  extensive  enough  to  expose  his  inner  workings.  visually,  it  isn't  unlike  sparks  shooting  from  a  malfunctioning  machine. 

[riahlynn101]

Ai-less Whumptober 2024: Day Twenty-eight - "Internal Bleeding." (Switching it to Day Twelve)

Word count: 1,002

Trigger warnings: major character death, blood, a child in distress, and implied abandonment

Story notes: this takes place a few months after the final war arc. Izuku still harbors a lot of guilt over Tenko’s passing and blames himself for the outcome (even though it’s not his fault). 

I took a more literal approach to the quote at the beginning.

--

“I hope death is like being carried to your bedroom when you were a child & fell asleep on the couch during a family party. I hope you can hear the laughter from the next room….”

Izuku knows it’s bad just from the way everyone avoids his gaze. His mouth tastes like old pennies, and whenever he opens his mouth to ask for reassurance something leaks out. He has an idea of what it is, but the thought of thinking it, or God forbid saying it makes him want to cry. Not that it matters, though, Izuku knows he’ll end up crying anyway, if he’s not already. 

He can’t tell. 

The liquid he refuses to name dribbles from his mouth, nose, and ears. It burns his skin, sliding down his face and the sides of his neck with the consistency of heated syrup. 

He wants so badly to be brave. To tell his frantic classmates that it isn’t their fault. To tell them that it was bound to happen at some point. But he can’t.

He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t!

It feels unfair, and a little like karmic justice. For what? He doesn’t know, but Izuku is racking his brain trying to think up any possible way this could be his fault. 

Maybe it’s because he didn’t take the trash out last night?

Or maybe it’s because he didn’t answer his mom’s phone call earlier?

Or maybe, a voice whispers to him. This is retribution for him not being able to save Tenko. 

For refusing to think about him. For moving on too quickly.

Tenko….

Izuku wheezes. The liquid that dribbles from his nose, mouth, and ears clogs his throat. He makes a weak attempt to hold his throat. No amount of swallowing makes breathing any easier. 

His classmates’ voices feel like a cacophony to his aching eardrums. 

He whimpers. “Momma,” he calls, unsure if he’s actually saying anything at all. He knows that she’s at home, far away from the damage the latest villain caused. It should make him happy that his mom’s safe, spared from seeing the worst of the damage, but instead it sends him straight to tears. 

He wants his mom. Bad. He wants her to come get him. To wrap her arms around him and never let him go. Her hugs were always warm. 

“Momma,” he calls again. “Momma, I’m scared.” It’s hard speaking around the throat full of blood. He reaches out for someone that isn’t there. That won’t be here until it’s far too late for it to matter anymore. 

When his mom doesn’t automatically appear, Izuku calls out for someone he hasn’t in years. 

“Daddy,” he cries. “Daddy, I don’t wanna die.”

His body hurts and it continues to hurt worse and worse as the minutes tick on. He wants it to stop and not stop in equal measure. Because the pain means he hasn’t died yet. It means there’s still a chance. 

A part of him, though, wants it to stop. 

“Daddy, momma.” He cries silently, unable to muster the energy to keep fighting. His blood feels cool now, not cold, but less warm than it did a moment ago. 

His classmates feel slow in their movements and their voices have started to quiet. But that can’t be right. Their mouths are moving, and yet, he hears nothing come out. 

Izuku feels his body start to go numb, and all he can think is:

I don’t want to die.

In between one blink and the next, he’s standing above his own cooling body. His eyes look dead, blank and unseeing. It feels wrong to see himself like this. Like he’s in a nightmare, and at any moment he’ll wake up. 

A hand finds his shoulder. Somehow, without looking, he already knows who it is. 

“It’s time to rest, Izuku,” All for One says. There’s no glee in his voice. He doesn’t tease or taunt him.

Izuku shakes his head. “Nuh, no.” He wants to cry, but he can’t. And that makes him want to cry even more. “I want to go home,” he warbles. “I want my mom.”

“I know, but that’s not possible anymore.” All for One guides him into a hug. It’s surprisingly warm. Izuku leans into it, needing comfort and not caring who or where it comes from. 

He presses a kiss into Izuku’s curls. “It’s time for bed,” All for One says. He scoops Izuku up, holding him like one would a small child. It’s tender and sweet and Izuku has no more fight left in him. 

He leans into his sworn enemy’s chest, seeking comfort like he himself is a small child awoken straight from a nightmare. 

All for One whispers to him, turning away from his body. “The party is over.” Before Izuku can ask what he means, the destroyed landscape turns to a child’s nursery, and one he recognizes from photos his mom’s shown him. “And it’s time to come home.”

It’s his. 

All for One lays him in bed, pressing another kiss into his curls. And then another one to his freckled, no longer scarred, cheeks, and one atop his nose. “I’ve missed you,” he murmurs. 

An understanding sparks in Izuku’s mind, staring up into the white eyes of All for One. 

“I called for you,” Izuku mutters. He feels betrayed in a way that he absolutely shouldn’t. Even if his dad was still alive (instead of being pulverized by the combined power of One for All), it wouldn’t be feasible for him to teleport to Izuku’s side in an instant. Or maybe it would. He doesn’t know. There seems to be a lot of things he doesn’t know.

“I wish I could have gotten there sooner.” His father tucks him into bed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t….” he doesn’t finish that sentence. Instead, he says, “my baby. Everything’s okay now.”

Izuku knows that isn’t true, but he wants it to be. And his eyes feel so heavy. And he wants so badly to sleep. 

“Daddy’s here.” His dad shushes him. Fingers comb through his curls. “And nothing will hurt you now.” A final kiss is pressed to his forehead. “I love you, and I’m sorry I left.”

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 16 - College AU

This part of the College AU takes place before the events of the rest of the pieces I've written for it, and is the first hospital incident referred to in "Comfort". It's one of the longest of my Whumptober fics!

Keep in mind that the Kamaria in this universe, while still tough and still having gone through a lot of abuse in her life, isn't hardened by war and torture like canon Kamaria.

Bruno belongs to Izzy and is used with permission!

Taglist: @painful-pooch , @sssunshinebreeze

The Shadow of Death Masterlist

No. 16: “Would you lie with me and just forget the world?” | Gurney | Flatline

Contains: lady whump, dude whump, hospital, referenced noncon, real word for noncon used, referenced beating, collar, internal bleeding, mild blood, noncon touch, touch aversion, talk of death, aftermath of noncon in hospital, cpr, passing out, police, broken bones

.

.

She screams his name again and again, but there’s no response.

“Bruno…Bruno no…please, Bruno!”

They wouldn’t stop hitting him, and kicking him, over and over and over, until he finally fell completely still. He hasn’t moved since. She can’t tell if he’s breathing or not, only knows that there’s blood streaking his face and his arm is misshapen and he won’t wake up.

Even when the frat house basement is miraculously flooded with police officers and paramedics, it’s all she can think, all her mind will repeat.

Bruno. Bruno. Bruno. Bruno. Bruno.

She’s pressing so far forward she can barely breathe, the cord that connects her to the wall digging the collar into her throat, but she’s nowhere near reaching him. She can’t even see him anymore, not with everyone kneeling around him. 

Her voice is raw from screaming and crying. “Bruno!”

All of the attention has been on him so far, as she wants it to be, but one officer finally turns and approaches her. The last thing she wants right now or ever again is anyone touching her, but at the same time…

“Get it off!” She clutches the hated collar, making brief eye contact with him before looking back to Bruno. “Get it off, get it off!”

“Okay, hold on. I’ve got you.” He crouches down, examining the clasp and the padlock that holds it shut, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a knife, flicking it open. Kamaria flinches backwards involuntarily. “You’re okay, you’re okay. I’m just gonna cut through this, okay? It may take me a second, but I won’t hurt you.”

Just hurry.

The wait is agonizing, but eventually he’s able to saw through the collar and she’s free. Immediately she begins to crawl toward Bruno, ignoring the pain that tears through her. 

His eyes are still closed. He’s still not moving. She reaches out for him, but before she can finally touch him for the first time since this all began, he’s lifted up by several sets of hands onto the gurney waiting next to him. Straps are pulled tight across his body and the gurney is unfolded to its full height.

Still kneeling on the floor, Kamaria lets out an ugly sob.

“I’ve got you, sweetie. You’re okay. Can you stand?” Someone, she doesn’t register whether she’s a paramedic or a police officer, crouches down next to her, too close, hands reaching out. 

Kamaria flings herself backwards. “Don’t touch me!”

“Okay!” Gloved hands raise in surrender. “I was just going to help you up, but I won’t touch if you don’t want me to.”

She does need to stand. She needs to be with Bruno, but they’re already carrying him toward the door. A strangled cry escapes her, watching his still form being taken away. “He’s…he’s…”

“Look, what if I offer you an arm? You can use my arm to pull yourself up, then we can follow your boyfriend, okay?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” The words spill automatically from her lips, repeated over and over so many times in the past…week? month? more? He’s not my boyfriend, we’re not even dating! We’re just friends! Kane never cared, though. He’d decided his own version of the truth, and nothing was going to sway him from it. 

What they technically are to each other hardly matters now, though. She cares for him. She feels something for him that she’s never felt for anyone before, especially not Kane. If it wasn’t obvious before, then watching him suffer because of her and having him try to comfort and support her through it all sealed it in her mind and heart.

“I need…I need to be with him.” The woman is offering her arm, like she said, and Kamaria only eyes it for a moment before clinging to it and allowing herself to be hoisted to her feet, biting back whimpers of pain the whole way. She lets go as soon as she’s steady enough and begins limping after the others, arms wrapped around her stomach.

The yard of the frat house is total chaos. Police cars are parked haphazardly at the curb, lights flashing. Multiple fraternity members, including ones that weren’t involved at all, are being handcuffed and questioned. In the next yard over and across the street, crowds have gathered to gawk at the scene.

But she can’t think about any of that right now, not the embarrassment she should be feeling or the dread of what a legal mess all of this is going to become. Her eyes desperately dart around until she finds what she’s looking for - the gurney with Bruno on it, being loaded into the back of an ambulance.

She rushes forward as fast as her abused body will go. “Please, please! Take me, too, I need to go with him!”

People in uniform block her path. The ambulance and the lights and the uniforms and the despair clogging her throat are starting to swirl together in her mind, trying to turn into a different event entirely, but she doesn’t have time for flashbacks right now. She has to get to Bruno. 

“Please,” she sobs. “I need…I need to…is he okay? Is he alive?”

“He’s alive,” someone answers, gentle. “But we need to get him to the hospital as quickly as possible to keep him that way. You can’t come inside, they need room to work.” 

The ambulance doors slam shut, and Kamaria feels like someone is twisting her insides into a knot.

“Let’s go to the other ambulance, over here. We’ll take you straight there behind him, alright?”

She doesn’t need an ambulance, she’s fine. But if it means following Bruno, then she’ll accept it. She lets them lead her there in a daze, unaware of anything but his absence until the vehicle is moving and strangers are trying to touch her again. The trip is spent with her curled in a corner next to the door, fists poised to fight, snapping at the paramedics every time they try to convince her to let them look her over. 

“Did those boys assault you?” one of them asks at one point. 

“I said I’m fine, leave me alone!” She can’t let her mind go there, not right now. 

The ambulance stops, and someone opens the doors from the outside. Kamaria immediately tumbles out, jerking away from the hands that try to catch her, and hurries toward the emergency room doors. At least a couple of people are following her, but she ignores them. She can see Bruno up ahead. Not even the onslaught of hospital sights and smells can deter her from getting to him. 

“Let’s wait right here so we don’t get in the way.” It’s the lady from the basement, appearing by her side and putting out an arm to keep her from charging into the small room where they’ve taken him. She starts to protest, but it’s obvious by now she’s not going to win with these people. The last thing she wants is to prevent him from getting the care he needs, anyway, no matter how it makes her heart ache.

Bruno is lifted again, off the gurney this time and onto the bed. He still hasn’t woken up. As the paramedics clear the room, the doctors swirl around him, hooking him up to machines and calling out terms that sound like a foreign language. 

The device that had started out steadily beeping starts flashing numbers, the beeps becoming a long, high-pitched screech.

“He’s crashing!”

More people run into the room, shoving past Kamaria. Someone has their hands braced on Bruno’s chest, pounding out compressions, while another fits an oxygen mask over his face and manually pumps air into his lungs.

Kamaria crumples. The woman catches her before she can hit the floor, holding up her weight while she screams. “Please no…please! He can’t die, he can’t, it’s all my fault!”

If she’d never dated Kane, none of this would have happened. If she’d never become friends with Bruno, none of this would have happened. He’s hurt because of Kane’s jealousy over her. He’s dying because of her.

“Shh, shh.” She can barely hear the voice in her ear over the sound of her own cries and the wailing of the monitor. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Look…they got him back. See? He’s okay. He’s alive.”

He’s alive. For now. 

She’s so exhausted, so utterly spent, that she can barely straighten herself back up. Somewhere between the frat house and here, the tentative scab that had been trying to form over the cut across her face apparently got knocked off in a couple of places. She can feel wetness on her forehead and nose where it’s sluggishly bleeding. She ignores it, though, just like everything else, pushing the arms away from her and clinging to the doorframe.

“We need to get him to the OR,” one of the doctors is saying. They’re prepping him to move again.

“What’s happening, where are they taking him?” 

“To surgery,” the woman answers. “You’ll need to stay here until he’s done.”

“Surgery.” What did Kane do to him? “What kind of surgery? Is he going to be okay?”

“I don’t know, but I will find out everything I can for you. In the meantime, let’s get you your own room where you can wait for him.”

He’s being wheeled away again. She can’t do anything but stand in the middle of the hallway, swaying slightly, and watch.

“Come on, sweetie. This way.”

She follows numbly, heart still beating out a rhythm of his name. Bruno. Bruno. Bruno. Bruno. It’s not until she’s sitting on the bed that the setting starts to catch up with her. She runs her hands through her hair, fingers getting caught up in tangles, eyes darting around the room. 

“I can’t…I can’t be here. I’m fine, I don’t need to be here.” Fire. Smoke. Oxygen mask. “I’ll go somewhere else, I-I’ll wait for him…somewhere else.”

“Hey.” The woman is still there. Kamaria focuses in on her features - blonde hair, blue eyes, hard jawline, shadows under her eyes - trying to think of anything but the room she’s in. “I know this is incredibly difficult. I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through, and I know you’re worried about your friend. But you need to be examined, too, you need to let them look at you.”

She shakes her head vehemently. “No. No, I’m fine, I don’t want them touching me.” I want my mom. “Bruno, he’s…” Another sob catches in her throat. “He’s going to die, isn’t he?” The last time she was in a hospital, her mother was dead. Hospitals go hand in hand with grief.

“I don’t know, sweetie.” The woman’s eyes are filled with sympathy, but Kamaria can’t look directly at them. “I’m still going to find out for you what’s going on, but I do know for sure that the doctors here are amazing, and they’re gonna do everything they can to save him.

“We need to talk about you right now, though. I know you don’t want to be touched. But you need to let someone treat that cut on your face, so it doesn’t get infected, and check you over for other injuries.”

“I don’t have any other injuries.”

The woman looks at her for a long moment. Kamaria doesn’t want to know what she sees. “I can’t force you to get treated. I can’t make you do any of it. But I need you to consider letting them do a rape kit.”

She can feel all the color draining from her face. “What?”

“I don’t want to let those boys get away with what they did, and I know you don’t, either. We need to be able to collect samples so we can run DNA and pin this on the right people.”

“No. No!” She jumps off the bed, backing across the room. “No, I can’t, I can’t do that. They…they saw us there, they saw what they did to Bruno…” For the first time, it finally registers that the woman is wearing a police uniform. “You saw what they did to him. I can…we can tell you what happened, who it was. Set up a, a lineup, or whatever you call it, we’ll point them out. You don’t need…I can’t.”

The officer nods. “Your testimony will be very helpful, and if you can ID all of the guys that’s great. But listen…” She takes a couple of steps closer. “Boys like that? Have rich families with expensive lawyers to back them up. Lawyers that will do everything in their power to cause doubt and get them off scot-free. DNA evidence, though - the kind of evidence we can get from you - will put them away. They won’t be able to argue against that. Chances are you wouldn’t even have to go to court or see them ever again.”

She pauses. “Maybe you’re not looking for justice for yourself. But what about Bruno? Don’t you want justice for him, however we can get it?”

She can’t, she can’t, she can’t, she can’t, just the thought of more hands on her, of the invasion of privacy and the looking and the questions…she wants to scream, she wants to crumble into a million pieces and disappear, she wants her mom, she wants Bruno. 

But she can’t have any of that. And no matter what happens to Bruno, the people that did this to him need to be locked away. Kane needs to be locked away, so that they never have to worry about him again.

“I’ll be right there by your side the whole time. You can hold my hand if you’d like.”

“No, you…you’ve got to find out about Bruno,” she mumbles.

“I will. I promised I would. I can go get someone to do your exam - a female - find out about the surgery, and be back here to keep you company. Okay?”

She can’t. She has to. “O-okay.”

It’s worse than she imagined. She nearly loses it just putting on the hospital gown and has to be talked back down by Officer Williams, as she learns the woman’s name is. They take pictures first, and with every flash of the camera she’s taken back to social services taking a photo for her foster care file. 

Officer Williams does her best to keep her mind off of what’s happening throughout the process, though the questions she asks about their time in the basement aren’t much better to dwell on than the present or her flashbacks. Kamaria does her best to answer, staring up at the too-bright lights on the ceiling with tears in her eyes, jolting and nearly hyperventilating every time she’s touched again. 

Finally, the officer is leaning over her. “It’s over, sweetie, it’s over. You did great.” 

Kamaria immediately stands. “I want my clothes back. When can I see him?”

“Your clothes are evidence, I’m sorry. But I’m sure the hospital has something they can provide for you to wear.” She looks to the nurses, still packing up their supplies, for confirmation. “And I will go see if there are any updates while you’re waiting on those.”

He’s in surgery for internal bleeding and a punctured lung. It’s no surprise, the way they’d beaten and kicked him. He’d withstood it for so long, so many days of torment, but that last time…it was just too much. His body couldn’t take anymore.

If the police hadn’t shown up when they did…

She can’t think about that.

Officer Williams comes back to report that Bruno is still in surgery, no indication of how much longer it will be. Kamaria is given a pair of grey sweatpants, a white t-shirt, and some slippers, and sent out to the waiting room. They wanted to keep her in a room, put her on an IV, but she adamantly refused. 

It should be her, injured like that. All she has to show for their time in that basement is some bruises and the deep cut bisecting her face, which only required some cream and a little bit of tape and bandages in the worst places. It was too late for stitches. She has no idea what she looks like now, doesn’t want to know. But it’s nothing compared to what they did to Bruno, and he should never have even been involved. He shouldn’t have come after her when Kane grabbed her, then he’d be okay right now.

She’s exhausted, but she can’t rest. Her legs bounce up and down, hands rubbing her thighs, fingers dancing along her arms making little crescent-shaped imprints in her skin. Her mind won’t stop flashing pictures at her of Kane and the others, of Bruno lying motionless on the floor. 

He has to live. He has to.

“Kamaria Veisi?”

She clears the floor completely as she jumps from her seat, eyes wide, heart dropping into her stomach.

The nurse strolls forward, offering a grim smile. “He’s out of surgery. It was tough, but they feel sure they got everything patched up.”

It feels like all the blood in her body drops into her toes all at once. The world goes black, and next thing she knows she’s sitting back in the chair, head between her knees. 

“You with me?” a voice asks.

She nods, though her skin is hot and her ears feel clogged up. 

“Just take it easy, don’t get up too quickly.”

“He’s…” She lifts her head slightly, looking for the nurse’s eyes. “He’s alright?”

“It’s going to be touch and go still for a little while. There’s always the chance that something was missed, or that infection will set in. But…for now, he’s alright.”

Kamaria shuts her eyes, breath shuddering. He’s alive. He’s okay. 

She sits up slowly, propping her elbows on her knees, letting her head adjust to the new altitude. “Can I see him?”

“Yes.” He looks at her with concern. “But I’m going to get a wheelchair to bring you to him.”

“I don’t need a wheelchair.” She sits up further, ready to stand.

The nurse puts out a hand to stop her. “Just humor me, okay?”

All that really matters is getting to Bruno as soon as possible, so she agrees and lets him wheel her through the hallways. They head to a bigger room, not one of the cubicles in the ER. 

Kamaria stops breathing as soon as he pushes her through the door. Everything about the room - the smell, the bed, the sterile whiteness, the softly beeping machines - is suffocating, but Bruno is here. He’s far more pale and still than he ever should be, the white sheets and the sickly blue hospital gown making it even worse, but at least there’s no more blood smeared on his face. He looks peaceful, despite all the tubes attached to him. As the nurse parks her right beside his bed, she watches the gentle rise and fall of his stomach. 

He’s alive. 

The nurse comes around to the side of the wheelchair and crouches down. It makes her feel like a child, but she’s too enraptured by watching Bruno breathe to pay much mind. 

“I heard that you turned down an IV earlier. Would you reconsider? He has one, see? And I could bring it to you in here, for you to wear while you’re sitting with him. I bet when he wakes up he’ll want to know that you’re letting us take care of you, too.”

When he wakes up. Because he’s going to. He’s going to be okay. And…yes. He’ll be so frustrated with her if he finds out she’s refusing any further treatment.

So, even though the thought makes her skin crawl, she sighs and mumbles, “Fine.” She’s been through far worse today already, and as long as she’s with Bruno, nothing can be that bad. 

“Great. I’ll be right back.”

The nurse leaves the room, and Kamaria grips the railing of the bed, pulling herself to her feet and gazing down at Bruno’s sleeping face. This whole time, she’s wanted to be able to touch him. To offer and to get a little bit of comfort. But Kane always kept them tied too far apart for that, all they had was their words to comfort each other. 

Now it’s finally possible, and she’s hesitating. There’s been so much unwanted touch. She’s not even sure if she can handle it. 

But she needs that reassurance that this is real, that she hasn’t dreamed up this whole day, that he’s not a hallucination that will disappear before her eyes. Slowly, she reaches out with a trembling hand and ever so lightly lays her fingers on his stubbled cheek. 

He’s warm. He’s real. Tears begin streaming down her cheeks as she strokes his skin with her thumb. 

She still doesn’t know what they are to each other, what exactly this is that she feels for him, what life will look like from now on. But right now she urgently needs to feel safe, to have him feel safe when he wakes. Gingerly, wincing at the pain since there’s no one around to see it, she climbs up onto the bed and squeezes herself in between the railing and his body, curling around his arm with her cheek on his shoulder. 

She can hear him breathing from here. He’s safe. They’re safe. Being pressed up against him feels nothing like the touch she’s been dreading, it feels…like she belongs. 

Within seconds, she’s asleep. 

[demivrg]

I might have to go to urgent care because I was a dumb baby and got something stuck in my throat, so I wound up coughing so hard I puked in the sink and now my abdomen is experiencing on and off sharp and stabbing pains.

Meaning the contractions might have ripped open the scar tissue from my surgery :)))

But I really don't wanna go to urgent care because they're notoriously slow (and expensive) and what if they do the iodine scan and there's 'nothing wrong'?

[turnips-dont-grow-on-trees]

Thinking about it, it would probably not be good for a werewolf to take blood thinners... (cw discussion of internal bleeding, animal death) First off, we don’t know what kind of healing, if any, Jack experiences when he transforms into a werewolf and back - and the comics are hilariously inconsistent on this, even within a single writer’s run. I personally have several contradictory headcanons on this subject. This post assumes that there is not 100% factory resent when he transforms.

So here’s the thing about blood thinners (the early ones at least, like warfarin) and why they’ve been used as both heart medication and rat poison: the are anti-coagulants that keep blood from clotting. This is good news for your heart if you are at risk of developing blood clots, but bad news if you are a rodent who will slowly bleed to death once your body uses up its Vitamin K.

Now, the presenter on rodenticides who put this thought in my head said that inside bodies there is almost constant repair and upkeep going on with our circulatory system, just over-exerting muscles or bumping into things causes damages. And I’d want to crosscheck that against someone who specialized in medicine to know whether that’s an accurate assessment or an over-simplification. But if it’s even just a little bit true, imagine how much internal injury and repair happens when transforming into a werewolf, and how bad it would be if that repair could not happen the way it was supposed to!

Ideally, Jack would get enough exercise and eat right so he wouldn’t have to take blood thinners. And actually, if he did, the good news is that medications like warfarin are very reversible with potassium. So on full moon nights, he’d just need to take a potassium supplement. Or eat an avocado. Always keeps a bag of dried apricots on hand, just in case. Can never eat them at any time other than the full moon or they will nullify his medication.

[illyth]

✨✨✨ Two days until I get to find out if I'm bleeding internally ✨✨✨ and then only 6 days before I start weekly iron infusions for possibly the foreseeable future ✨✨✨