#medical trauma whump

[deluxewhump]

The Scry

Ch 13 Gift Horse

CW: whumpee with powers, past medical trauma, mentions of surgical procedures including past noncon/unmedicated procedures

Doctor Holstrom’s house was in a southeastern suburb of the city, where the townhomes and snug brick apartment buildings from the nineties thinned out to sprawling plots of manicured land with white-columned Greek Revivals and beige French Provincials set further and further back from the curb like little manors. 

He first arrived the night the doctor had taken him to dinner, full from his recent rich meal and tired from the wine he’d drunk. The car was too smooth, too new-smelling, and it was making him carsick. He was happy to get out and put his feet on solid earth. The sprawling brick house was dark inside, but its face was lit by solar uplights staked at even intervals in the green lawn. The pathway to the door was lit too, which he appreciated in his current state. 

Dr Holstrom showed him to a guest room on the second floor that was impeccably neat and smelled of fresh linens. All Carlo had with him was a backpack, which he slung onto a persian carpet and laid back on the bed. It was bigger than his bed at Max’s and softer than the starched sheets at the hotel. Still, he closed his eyes and listened to the cicadas outside, pretending he was in the little room under the eaves and Max and Ingrid were down the hall. 

-

In the morning no one came to get him, which he realized he’d been expecting for some reason. He woke and slept again until creamy yellow sunlight was pouring over his face and birds were trilling in the trees. He laid there for some time feeling a sense of accomplishment at having done this himself. He hadn’t found the doctor, exactly, the doctor had reached out to him, but he’d vetted him and approached cautiously. He’d found out his motives and even dug for the messier one, the old feud with Martin Olsen. 

Was there something he was missing? He’d thought of the possibility that it was an elaborate trap but that felt comically paranoid. Martin Olsen had no issue with torturing him if it meant useful intel from his powers, but he wasn’t the sort of sadist that would set up something as elaborate as that. He’d be offended by how much of his time it took up. Besides, he had only ever asked for Carlo’s silence on their projects together. Demanding silence was not the same as demanding loyalty. 

At ten, he wandered into the attached bath and showered, towel dried his hair, dressed. He found miniature toothbrushes individually wrapped on the marble bathroom counter, along with travel sized toothpaste. He opened the medicine cabinet to similar miniature mouthwashes, floss, and makeup remover towelettes. He resisted the bizarre urge to pocket any of it. 

He almost got lost getting downstairs but found Dr Holstrom easily enough once he located the first floor. He was on his cellphone in a sunny, hectagonal room with a breakfast table and a chaise lounge, mahogany bookshelves tucked between stately windows that ran floor to ceiling. The doctor saw him and smiled gently, waving him in. He held up one finger, a universal “one minute” about the phone call, and then gestured for Carlo to have a seat opposite him at the table. He did, drawing his feet up in the chair with him so his knees pressed against his chest. 

“If there’s any reason to worry, you will get a call. Of course. Thank you, chairman. You too.”

He hung up and set his phone face down on the table. “Coffee?” he asked Carlo. 

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“If you change your mind. I’ve got tea as well. Fresh orange juice?”

“Maybe later.”

“…You’re anxious.”

“A little.”

“Understandable. I’ll take you to my facility today if you’d like, show you where you’ll be prepping for surgery, and where you’ll be recovering. You should be able to come back here Sunday night.”

He agreed to tour the surgery center, part of him wanting to back out and part of him wishing they could just get it over with today. He felt he was teetering on the edge of a very steep cliff, and wanted to crawl back to safety or jump already. 

The doctor gave him a knowing look. “You’re not obligated to go through with anything, you know. Not until the moment you give me the go-ahead to put you under.”

“I want this,” he answered. “I don’t have any other choice. It’s just…”

“Scary.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. 

“The unknown always is. Most fear is the fear of the unknown.”

Carlo huffed. “And some is based on very similar past experiences.”

“That’s true. Can I remind you my utmost priority is your safety and comfort?”

Carlo felt strangely shy at the display of concern. “You can.”

Maybe it was because he hated how a part of him opened to those words like a flower to sunlight. Some people treated him like a human being with a weird feature, a glitch that happened to be sort of a superpower. Others treated him like an android, or like AI that just looked unnervingly human. He could not for the life of him figure out what made up the difference in anyone. 

“I’ll remind you often, then,” the doctor indulged him. “You’re safe here.”

Carlo put his forehead on his tucked-up knees, mostly to avoid that gentle but somehow still searing gaze. “Thank you,” he said against his pant leg. 

-

Saturday night, Dr Holstrom (he’d asked Carlo to call him Erik) showed him his facility in Mt Vernon. It was empty, being a weekend and seven PM. Unlike a hospital, the surgery center operated on weekday hours. It was clean and bright, with a water fountain in the sparkling reception lobby and many complex, intimidating machines in the operating theater. Carlo deliberately didn’t ask about them, preferring to focus on the PACU room he’d be recovering in, with its soft lighting and slightly less hospitalized feel. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have toured the facility. The sight of equipment on stainless steel trays in white rooms was enough to set his nerves on fire, his teeth on edge. He followed Erik closely, looking at his clear, calm face for reassurance as he explained each room in his soothing voice. Soothing or not, it felt dangerous to surrender so much to one man, especially one in a white coat. To pin not only his future but his immediate safety on a few kind words from one person he’d met a week ago. But what choice did he have?

He wished Max could be here with him. Someone he knew would advocate for him, someone who had no ulterior motive, someone he could trust. When they left the facility he shoved his hands under his armpits and filled his lungs with the suburbian September air, hoping the dizziness he felt somewhere deep in his skull would abate soon. 

Back at Erik’s house, Carlo had his last liquid before he had to begin fasting. He’d barely eaten all day, despite several offers, but accepted a cup of hot peppermint tea the doctor made for him. He sipped it on the doctor’s living room sofa, hoping it would settle his thrumming nerves. Even the record player turning on made him jump. The music temporarily soothed him, though, and he closed his eyes to it, feeling tenderly grateful for something beautiful that distracted him. Erik sat in a wingback chair opposite him, crossed one ankle over the other knee. 

“I want to go over everything with you one more time,” he said patiently. “I know it’s tedious.”

“No,” Carlo said. His default was to be helpful and compliant, he couldn’t seem to help it. “It’s fine.”

“You want your precognitive ability destroyed. You understand there is no way to give it back to you.”

“Yes.”

“You understand there is a slight risk, as with any surgical procedure.”

Dr Holstrom had told him this before. “Mostly from an experimental form of anesthesia,” he repeated. “And standard risk of postoperative infection we will mitigate with antibiotics.”

Erik gave an indulgent half-smile. “And I’ll have to shave that pretty head.”

Carlo blinked. That hadn’t occurred to him. Of course he would. He’d be cutting into a section of his skull. That was fine. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had his head shaved. He didn’t know whether to fawn or prickle at the way Erik had called it pretty.  “Yeah,” he breathed on an exhale. “It’s just hair.”

“Is there anything you’d like to do before you do this?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know you have a certain level of resentment for your ability. And I understand, it’s brought you nothing but subjugation and misery. But it is still part of you, and powerfully rare. Is there anything you’d like to scry in that black mirror of yours before we shatter it?”

The peppermint taste on his tongue was suddenly bitter. “I can’t see my own future, if that’s what you mean. That’s not really how it works. I wouldn’t want to anyway. I think we’d misunderstand most of what we see, which would lead to either paralyzing fear or… disappointment later on, when it turns out differently.”

Erik listened intently, nodding his understanding. Carlo found himself looking at the doctor’s hands when his eyes became too much. Surgeon’s hands, steady and skilled. Hands he was going to let sedate and immobilize him, cut into his head with a sleek surgical saw.

Did he know the doctor was going to sedate him? He could just be saying that to get him in the facility. Maybe there was no way to sedate someone like him, maybe something in his physiology wouldn't allow it. Maybe something about the preternatural sight nestled in his brain would not allow him to be put under by any man made drug. Maybe this doctor, this stranger, was going to strap him down and do it anyway. He swallowed the feeling of old dread that bobbed up, again and again, right into his mouth. If he took another sip of peppermint tea now, he’d be sick. 

“I’ve only heard of the things you can do,” the doctor said. “I’ve never seen it firsthand.”

Carlo shrugged dismissively. “It’s not an exact science.”

“No. I would imagine it’s not a science at all. It’s possibly the last bit of magic left in the world.”

Carlo lifted his eyes from those dangerously capable hands to the doctor’s face. He didn’t like the sound of any of that. 

“Don’t mistake me,” Erik said, sensing his discomfort. “I want you to have what you want. We’re on the same side, Carlo.”

It felt as if someone had turned up the thermostat, as if the tea left in his cup might boil. Sweat pricked the back of his neck. “But what?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I just wonder… would you begrudge me one small service, one desperate favor before I snuff out that Olympian spark forever?”

If it was so hot, why was the pit of his stomach so cold? Or maybe it was heat, and he couldn’t tell yet, like when you first stick your finger under a stream of very cold or very hot water.

“Don’t look so betrayed. Nothing has changed. I just thought you might consider using your ability one last time, willingly. An exercise in the free will I am about to give you.”

“I’ve always had free will,” Carlo answered numbly as his mind grew flighty and panicked. He would never understand how such smart people could say such stupid things. He got up so clumsily from the couch that he forgot his teacup and knocked it to the floor. It landed with a muffled thud on the carpet but did not break. His hands felt numb. 

“Carlo,” the doctor said gently, tilting his head. “Don’t overreact. I’m not your enemy.”

He picked up the cup and then wondered why he’d done it. To be polite, he guessed, an instinct that remained well past the point it should be abandoned. 

“What would you want to see?” he asked flatly.

“Sit down,” Erik said, halfway between a reprimand and a suggestion. “You’re shaking. Take a deep breath. It’s alright.”

He didn’t. “What do you want to see so bad you’d ask me this the night before you’re supposed to cut my head open and help me?”

Erik was silent for a moment, perhaps waiting for Carlo to take a seat and behave himself again. When he didn’t, he answered anyway. “My daughter. My only child. I haven’t known where she is, if she’s dead or alive,  in two very long years. I’d just like to know if she’s alive. If she’s well. That’s all.”

He frowned. “Why haven’t you seen her for two years?”

“She left us. Left her mother, too. She's an adult, and it was of her own volition, but I want to know if she is still safe. Two years is a long time, especially not to send her mother any word. We were close, once, but…” he spread his hands. “Families.”

“Why would she do that?”

“She was angry with us. She wanted to divorce herself of her family, her name, her history. Why do young people do the things they do?”

“How do I even know it’s really your daughter? How do I know you didn’t do something to make her leave like that?” he asked, though he knew he had scried less ethically under duress in the past. This was nothing. 

“I can prove to you she’s my daughter, but the rest you’ll just have to take on faith. I’m not asking you to track down her GPS coordinates. I just want to know she’s alright. I hired a P.I., and he couldn’t do anything for us.”

“But you think I can.”

“If anyone can, it’s you.”

“This is why you slipped me that note. You’ll help me if I help you.”

“No. I’ll help you regardless. I’m asking you to help me. You can say no.”

His initial panic had settled into something manageable. If he refused, he knew the doctor might become angry, might take back his offer. He might even call the cops, tell them Carlo had just showed up here uninvited, begging for his help. Worse, he could force him to scry for him. Carlo guessed he was in his early to mid fifties, but clearly strong and capable as ever. And he was tall, maybe six two. That meant he had a good three inches and thirty pounds on him, and Carlo was afraid if he bolted for the locked front door he wouldn’t get it open before he was physically overpowered. And he would do anything in his power to keep it from getting ugly. Once it got ugly, there was usually no going back to civility or little kindnesses. And there was no telling what this man might do to him.  He sat back down, holding his empty teacup like a talisman.

 “I’ll need something of hers,” he said quietly. “Do you have any home videos or saved voicemails with her voice on it?”

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[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

today’s whump prompt for writers:

whumpee suffers blunt force trauma to the head and has a part or half of their head shaved during the procedure of saving their life, thus the pitch black stitches from where they were hit and were then patched back up are painfully visible, and every time caretaker looks at those stitches, they are reminded of what whumpee went through. and caretaker can’t let it show on their face how disturbing the sight was to them, otherwise whumpee might think caretaker is disgusted by them now (when that is not the cast).

bonus because whumpee’s (partly) shaved head and their stitches can be a constant reminder of their trauma, what whumper did to them, and also the now shaved head (even if their head was shaved by a nurse, not by whumper, in order to prep them for the surgery/in order to best treat their wound) can be a symbol of dehumanization, depends on the context and the vibes and how whumpee feels about their situation.

another bonus if they suffer concussion, too.

chef’s kiss.

[oohshinywhump]

Hang on hold up! Guys I just had the most brilliant idea!

You know that carewhumper trope where the caretaker has to hurt the whumpee in order to help them? Like, forcing an oxygen mask on a struggling whumpee who thinks they're being drugged or rebreaking the whumpee's bone so it can heal properly (anesthetic unavailable)?

Four words: historically accurate medical whump

I'm talking leeching, bleeding, blistering, those glass cups that were heated up and placed on the skin to burn it.

The whumpee is burning up with a nasty fever so the caretaker cuts their skin to drain away the excess humours, and whumpee has to be held down the whole time because it hurts.

The whumpee has a terrible headache that will not go away so the caretaker puts some leeches on their brain while repeating "this will help, eventually, I promise. I'm sorry. I'm sorry!"

The caretaker is actually just torturing the whumpee, but they think they are helping. Whumpee thinks it will help. But it doesn't, of course. It just makes a bad thing worse for no reason.

Bonus points if we, the readers, know it isn't going to work, and there is an air of tragedy about the whole thing. If only they could know...

Bonus bonus points if years later new medical research reveals that those techniques were actually making things worse, and the caretaker and/or whumpee finds out and has to grapple with the implications, the medical trauma, realizing that all that pain and torture was all for nothing.

I feel like there's a way you could adapt this for a fantasy setting too. Maybe there's a magical healing technique that turns out to be bogus years later.

[daydreamsandcrashingwaves]

Keeping It Close To The Chest Pt. 3

TW/CW: Medical Trauma/ torture, medical experimentation, ptsd and flashback type stuff, vivisection wound, Brief suicide attempt with a blade, (If you wanna skip that part it's bordered by '~~'), child abuse, emotional distress, more Danny whump, hurt/comfort- just a lil comfort at the end lol

As always if I missed a tag please let me know! I want anyone who wants to read my writing be informed so they can make the best decisions for themselves. Be kind to yourselves and be safe.

Hey! Here's part three! I'm considering posting this to Ao3! If I do I'll probably edit each part a bit. I hope you all enjoy my humble offering! I'll let ya all know if I do! If you missed them, Part one Part Two

Much love to you all

~Ren

Danny didn't recognize where he woke up. He could smell antiseptic in the air in combination with the white walls and sheets made him uneasy. Last time he could bare to look they hadn't bothered to clean up his splattered ectoplasm, all the white was abnormal. Bandages, sheets, walls, floor, ceiling they all looked eerily familiar. He could still feel their hands digging inside him. Panic thrummed through his core- the lab, they have him back in the lab-he wrenches at the restraints the scientists had put on him, only for them to be missing.

With no resistance his body crashes to the ground next to the bed he was on with his legs twisted into the sheets. Danny flails his legs to free himself. The deep ache of his wounds pulls him forcefully from the swirling green noxious clouds that fill his head. His parents had never left him without something holding him exactly as they left him. Ready and waiting for their next experiment. His core sinks somewhere around his guts from the thought. Unrestrained. They left him unrestrained; he looks at his bare arms in reluctant wonder.

The knowledge doesn't soothe him at all, they'd return soon. One look at him would make it obvious to them that he was in no shape to run again. Run he has to run. Anxiety and uncertainty made his powers spike and the lights blow above him. The temperature drops around him and he settles for a moment. At least he had access to his powers even if he feels like he'd have to use far much more energy than normal to use even his invisibility.

His par- Maddie and Jack had made the table out of antighost material that kept him from phasing out of the straps, but it was the dried blood blossoms in the vents that had weakened him, his powers slipped through his fingers, out of reach until the hail Mary last ditch effort explosion from his core that had frozen them where they stood. Danny swung his head to look at the.. simple comfy looking bed he had been resting on. Why would they-

Footsteps pound towards where he is, a shadow in the doorway. Fuck, they were back. Whenever they visited it hurt. Jack and Maddie were creative in their experiments, each one brought Danny more agony. Brought Danny closer to a full death. If he couldn't keep them from finding his core again, he really would be dead. His core pulsed, memories pushed themselves to the forefront of his mind.

They touched it, a glove shouldn't hurt like it did, what did they do what did they do to him did they not see they were killing him. He's alive, he's here, he's their son whywhywhy. Jack's comforting bulk turned to cheerful aggression and brute strength used to hurt him; Danny misses his firm embrace, the hate on Maddie's face tore Danny up inside, to see how her face went from deep love to the equally strong opposite was heartbreaking. She once threw herself at Vlad's experiments in that damned forest, her marital arts training had amazed him. She frightens him now, they frighten him now. To use such brutality against their son, she had broken bones, flung him so easily once she had gotten ahold of him. How awful it was to have not one reaction to his pleas- mom please you're hurting me, please it hurtsithurtsyourehurtingmeYOUREGONNAKILLME!

Danny can still hear his own screams playing in his head.

Tension fills Danny's frame sending more shockwaves across his injuries, the brain fog making it harder to figure out who was on the doorstep. He struggled to get to his knees in preparation. If the Drs Fenton were gonna do Frog Dissection 2: Ghostboy Edition he wasn't going to be compliant, even if Danny felt like he wouldn't be able to fight them off for very long at all. Hope that they would come to their senses would cost him dearly. A light flicked on outside the doorway, illuminating... his older brother. Damian Al Ghul, stared back at him.

Danny jolted, he vaguely remembered he popped out of a portal basically on top of his twin, right? His memories are all jumbled. Danny raised a shaky hand to his head, the beginnings of a migraine building. Did he lose his bags? His dagger? Danny didn't dare turn away from the predator in front of him to look. That was how many foolish people during the twin's training lost their lives. How weak was he that he let himself be caught when he could've at least tried to fly away? In some ways this was worse than being caught by his adoptive parents again. Damian was an unknown after all these years, even if part of him wants to cling to his cape and beg for just a days rest before they send him wherever they were planning to.

Damian may be here on a mission, or if he truly did escape the League maybe he wanted to send Danny back in his place so he could remain away from Grandfather's clutches. Danny knows just how persistent the Demon Head could be. Damian had always been the superior heir, but if Mother had been sending... clones? That's what he had said earlier, if Danny could remember correctly. Clones sent to Damian. It was a last resort to claim him and bring him home. Or replace him with the clone that won, he shivers thinking of Vlad.

Would Vlad go for the superior twin if he knew of Damian? That was a meeting Danny wanted to avoid, not that Damian would comply with any of the Fruitloop's plans. Danny paled at the thought, Damian surely would kill Vlad if he tried, then only Plasimus would remain. As of now his human half was the only reason the older halfa wasn't more than a nuisance. What a nightmare a fully ghost Vlad would be. Danny never would've stayed in Amity if he knew the trouble he'd get himself into. Danny was always just the spare. There to take orders, nothing more. His life and death was up to Grandfather. Not even lazarus water was allowed to someone worthless. No need for him beyond the worst case scenario, but held onto until the heir could claim his place.

The domino mask was gone revealing those emerald eyes he's missed for so long, but he still was wearing what he was earlier, Danny can see his blood smears from here. Danny tried to guess what Damian was thinking so hard about but other than his furrowed brows, his twin gave nothing away. In a sick way it made him proud his elder brother hadn't lost his edge.

Danny remained silent as his brother panted into the dark between them. He had to wait to be acknowledged. If he broke this tentative peace there is no telling when the orders would start. Slipping so easily into his League training made Danny bite his cheek to avoid the frown that would take place. Emotion will do him no favors here, even if truly hiding what he was feeling was next to impossible under Damian's gaze. Danny watched as Damian watched him. Damian telegraphed his movements slowly so Danny could see his hands and what they were doing. He had started palming his hidden blades and dropping them carelessly to the floor. Danny's eyes grew wide at the sight.

Damian... he didn't do careless, his every move deliberate and well thought out. This must be something meant to throw him off, make him lower his guard. His elder brother would also never just throw his weapons around unless it was at a target. Perhaps he doesn't need them. Perhaps he wants to kill Danny with his own hands or perhaps he thinks Danny won't resist his order to return. (In this moment Danny couldn't resist anything Damian wanted to do to him, even if he wanted to. He could be shipped back to Grandfather in Damian's stead.) Danny clenched the disheveled sheets in his hands, if he had to take on his twin every advantage he could get. Danny would need.

Looking back to the door, Damian has a small but impressive pile scattered behind him, one last dagger is carefully held in his hands. They're trembling slightly, Danny would have missed it, should have missed it, but he remembered far much more of his past than he ever let on with the Fentons. Danny figured amnesia is a great excuse to not answer their questions on how he got to be alone in Amity Park or where his family was, how he got left behind. The Damian here confused him. Disarming himself, openly trembling- nothing like the brother he remembers.

(They were the same size, but Damian always seemed bigger, his shoulders meant to hold more, the League, Grandfather's expectations and Mother's indifference, Danny and his string of failures, he only ended up holding the heir back. Damian's arms always open to curl up in after Danyal's frequent punishments. A weakness, Mother had said when she caught them, she had ripped Danny from his brother's arms and had mercilessly beaten him until he couldn't move for his audacity, all while Damian watched blank faced. When they were once again alone Damian had whispered apologies while helping the younger clean and bandage himself. Danny had insisted on doing the same for Damian- he had clenched his hands so tightly into fights behind his back that he had a perfect set of bloody nail marks from holding himself back from intervening as he stood at attention nearby- before they slipped into their beds. There would be no sharing tonight, not when Mother would surely check on them to make sure Danny didn't continue to tear Dami down. His elder brother had hummed a soft tune though that Danny fell asleep to. But no, Danny can't be sure that part of Damian still exists, he can't risk the world for his selfish desire to stay by his brother's side. Ra's Al Ghul could never find out just what kind of power Danyal gained via the portal and Phantom in his absence from Ra's watchful eye.)

Damian looks awfully small to Danny now, curled into himself by the door. He sheaths the dagger and gently sets this one on the ground in front of him before he sends it straight to Danny with a perfect kick. Danny snatches it up quickly, he won't look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Danyal..." Damian seems to crumple under the weight of his name, he looks... lost. He clears his throat, goes to say something but clears it again instead. His brother has always been confident. This uncertainty Danny feels zipping between them keeps him on edge. "Ahki please you are hurt, can I help you back to bed?"

Tears. Those are tears falling down his brother's face. Danyal can only stare. Damian had only cried with Danyal a few times in the League, on that rooftop with the stars. Something about how since Damian was older he had to be strong, strong for Danyal, strong in the face of Grandfather.

"I won't go back." Danny rasps painfully slipping into their mother tongue, "I'm sorry Dami I won't go back. Not even for you." Danny thinks he popped some of the stitches holding his chest together under the bandages when he dove to the floor. His shirt feels wet, his blood would quickly eat at the stitches now that he's actively bleeding again. Better to die here, this way, then go back to-

Danny raises his hand.

~~

"Ahki! No!" Damian cries out desperately, he feels his face twist in horror as dim lights blink into existence under the cabinets. Damian had thought a blade in hand would make Danny feel safer, less vulnerable for their second meeting if he had something to defend himself with. The image his brother makes on the floor was something he never could've imagined happening.

Damian was going to be sick. Danny had always been a joyful and stubborn presence by his side. Not even in the throws of their harsh childhood did he ever give up, ever give in.

Fear almost stops his heart from beating before it stubbornly restarts hard enough for his chest to ache. The dagger Damian had relinquished to Danny was pressed lightly to his own throat by a shaky hand. Damian's exclamation caused Danyal's hand to press a bit too hard, red blood dripped down the side of his neck. Danny looked at him almost hypnotized by Damian's extreme distress at what the light revealed, he didn't recognize the blur of movement towards him in time to react. Damian's hand covers his own wrenching the blade away.

When he found out who broke down his baby brother to such a degree that he felt he had to turn his blade on himself, well, Father's rules be damned, Damian would make them beg for death before claiming their pathetic life. It would be good to remind others of what the Demon Heir was capable of if he deemed it worth his time. Worth crossing Batman and his no killing rule. Danyal was worth everything to Damian.

~~

Danyal is shaking like a leaf in front of him and Damian aches to reach out to his baby brother, yet he doesn't want to force contact. If Danny felt cornered he could spook and hurt himself more trying to get away from Damian and that is the last thing he wants. "There is no need for that here Danyal. I'm sorry Danny, I'm so sorry you've been alone," He chokes out, the Arabic heavy in his mouth, "it will be alright you're- you're Ahki won't let anyone force you to do anything. I'll protect you, I promise."

Damian can see comprehension spread across that scary blank face his twin had been making. It trembles and breaks as tears gather in the corner of Danny's eyes. Danny's hands grip his arm harshly, Damian doesn't correct him. A bruise is a small price to pay for his twin's comfort. Even back in the League Damian never lied to Danny, had always, always, kept his promises. Those tears fall.

Danny wails as Damian pulls him tightly to his chest, he can't hide how he pats Danyal down to check for more weapons. Richard hovers outside the room but Damian knows he's hesitant to insert himself into the situation and have the potential for Danny to act unpredictably again. How astute of him, Damian is relieved at his brother's emotional intelligence. Damian keeps repeating his words over and over while rocking them. Danny obviously doesn't want to settle into it but can't seem to help it. Twins together for the first time in almost a decade, Damian doesn't hide his hitching breaths as they cry together. Damain never wants him to let go.

"I can't stay Ahki, I can't!" Danny sobs, pulling back until his brother can see his face, "Grandfather will- he'll- I'm a walking weapon!" Danny blubbers and tries to get a breath to explain because his brother had always at least let Danny say his argument in the past but ends up coughing until it turns into a whine. His body hurts. His Y incision burns like his- Maddie and Jack- are freshly cutting into him and he just wants this moment to last but knowing they're on borrowed time makes Danny curl closer. His face is pressed to Damian's chest, somehow Damian had moved them, Damian's back rested against the bed while Danny was cradled in his lap. Soothing circles were traced onto his back, something had changed in Damian's demeaner but without looking at his face Danny could only guess what that meant.

His cries slowly petered out in the face of his brother's steady comfort and Danny could feel his body go boneless in Dami's hold. His elder brother's murmurs weren't hidden by his cries so he could finally hear what was being said,

"I've been with Father for five years, I, too will never go back to the League. Ra's is dead, I promise you. Dead and locked away so he can not get revived in the Pits. He will never darken our doorstep, he's dead and Talia knows if she comes here, she will meet a similar fate, Danyal it's going to be okay. We're okay now. We have family who will help. I won't leave you alone again."

Over and over again, Damian's voice full of confidence and vitriol but he keeps his hold loose. Damian had always respected Grandfather and his influence, Danny wasn't sure what to think hearing his brother speak Grandfather's name. Danny had known that awful day the twins were pitted against each other that once the spare died there would be no escape from the League for Damian. If what he says is true... Damian did escape, has been safe with their Father for years.

Exhaustion slams into him, Danny feels... safe. The safety he so desperately needed is here in his grasp and he's terrified of it disappearing, being false. "Dami-"

"Hush Ahki, just breathe, we will talk later." Damian uses his sleeve to clean Danny's face, the gentle swipes make more tears sprint to his eyes, but his brother is patient, content to clean him up. Danny opens his mouth to protest, but Damian gently shushes him. Damian shifts their bodies to move them back to the bed, but Danny reacts like Damian is getting ready to leave, leave him here in this strange new place, scared and alone. (Some part of Danny snaps back at the thought, Damian never had gone back on his word before. Not once, that was a miracle considering their childhood.) Danny's hand snaps out to grab his twin's wrist on instinct. Don't go please. Don't go, I don't want to be alone.

Damian's face softens out of it's natural neutrality, his mouth twisting into a small smile. His real smile, the one reserved only for Danny. "The floor is dirty Danyal and I need to check your stitches, let's get you back in bed." Damian chuckles quietly at the apprehensive look shot his way. Danny was always an open book, at least to Damian. "I'll stay with you, come."

Damian shifts them as carefully as he can only to abruptly stop when Danyal's hand flies to his chest on a gasp. Danny can see Damian biting his cheek and glancing from him to the door out of the corner of his eye before he straightens a bit decision made.

"Richard, I know you are still there," It's said with a sigh but he knows that tone, his brother is grateful. A black-haired man pokes his head warily into the room to look at them.

"Little D! Can I help with anything?" Despite his caution Richard is beaming at them from his spot by the door. Danny grew tense in Damian's arms at the new arrival, but thankfully, luckily, he didn't try to run.

"Tt. Tell Pennyworth I may need his assistance, Danyal potentially pulled his stitches." Richard's face rapidly paled, his gaze swinging to his youngest brother trying to see if blood was leaking through his bandages. Damian was certain Richard would be grateful for Superman's x-ray vision right now by how hard he was staring at Danyal.

Though Richard meant well Damian felt his irritation rise when he feels Danyal curl further into him, trembling hands gripping the life out of his suit. As he resumes rubbing Danyal's back he starts whispering again in Arabic, careful to keep his words between them. Damian is sure an audience isn't helping Danny relax. Damian draws his focus the best he can away from their buffoon of an eldest brother.

Richard lingers in the doorway so without turning to look Damian flicks his wrist and the blade Danyal was ready to use against himself sails true, embedding itself a hair's width away from Richard's hand on the doorframe. "Now Grayson." He growls. Then they are alone. Damian hides a smirk in his twin's hair, before frowning. Danyal would feel better if he was clean, if his hair is anything to go by Danyal hasn't had a bath in a long time. That is where Damian could start. Until he could have a talk with his twin and figure out what he was so terrified of he'd threaten his own life... this would have to do. He's sure that Alfred has some supplies stored in the recovery room. Damian put a tub in the sink to fill with warm water while he grabbed what he needed.

With a brief explanation Danny pouted but hesitantly let Damian lower him so his head was mostly hanging off the foot of the bed. He pulled a chair over and got to work. The first wash was to get the majority of the dirt, blood, and sweat out. After he rinsed the first shampoo out Damian took his time with the rest. Fingers worked through knots and a bit of pressure here and there had Danyal melting in his hands. Truly relaxing for the first time in what was probably a long time. Damian smiled softly. The boy looked to be dozing now, both content to remain like this for a while longer.

From the door Alfred waved Dick off, it had been a long night and Bruce's eldest certainly needed rest. Looking back at the two blood siblings Alfred was sure the immediate danger had passed. He was content to leave them to bask in eachother's presence for a little while longer before he checked on the youngest master's stitches.

Part four

[gummys-whump-acc]

TW: Medical whump

Some medical whump prompts!

Whumper getting whumpee forcefully addicted to some drug or medicine that causes severe withdrawal symptoms when taken away. More points if that drug is some kind of hallucinogen that makes whumpee panic as reality around them distorts (at least they’re not dealing with the agony that comes with not having it, right?).

Non-consensual body modification. Whether it be giving whumpee non-human features like wings sewn on or an animal’s horns surgically attached, then whumper mocks them for being such an animal.

Forcing whumpee to undergo starving themselves to get a ‘perfect body’. Whumper praising them for looking like a skeleton, and that becomes internalised until whumpee does nothing but check their calories all day. Whumper starts getting whumpee fillers and injections but when one gets botched and whumpee turns out ‘ugly’, they’re abandoned.

Whumper playing pretend that whumpee is ill and ‘taking care of them’. Forcing a feeding tube down whumpee’s throat, attaching a catheter to them, stabbing an IV into their veins and pumping them full of fluids and sedatives to make them docile, putting them on a ventilator, etc. When they escape they have trouble with mobility, breathing on their own and holding their bladder because of this, and now the actual caretaker has to take care of a whumpee that should have been healthy all along (medical treatment now triggers whumpee’s trauma though).

[whumpshaped]

a rather specific prompt for you :)

whumpee is/ was trained and used a a guard dog. during their time with their master they sustained an injury that causes them to not be able to fulfill their job properly anymore. still wounded, they get thrown out, chained in some allay. whumpee expects to die alone and cold, when caretaker comes along and accidentally stumbles across the abandoned whumpee. they (caretaker) think whumpee is just a regular pet and don’t realize they have a still dangerous guard dog at their feet and decide to rescue them and help them recover. whumpee has never experienced anything like this kindness, especially after becoming so useless, so (after having lost their old master) they immediately bond to caretaker as their new master, and would do anything to protect and please them

tw pet whump, amputation, abandonment, past trauma, broken bones, medical setting, caretaker new master, murder, gore, dehumanisation

"Oh, dear..." Caretaker crouched down by the shivering figure, putting the back of their hand against their forehead. They looked... half-dead, honestly, so the feverish warmth eminating from them was almost a relief. "Who did this to you...?"

The poor thing whined, and they reminded Caretaker of a wounded dog; but maybe that was just from how they were chained up. This was all so horrible.

"Okay, don't be scared. I'm gonna get you out of the alley and to a vet, alright? We'll get you all fixed up."

Another whine, and Caretaker suddenly realised there were other issues apart from the visible sickness. The pet's ankle... it was twisted in a way they'd never seen before. It was swollen, a mix of deep red and purple, bent in a way no healthy foot was supposed to.

"Oh... Oh, this is way worse than I thought, isn't it?" They immediately regretted the comment when the thing looked up at them with those wide, fearful eyes, probably expecting them to just give up now and leave them. "That's okay!" they added hastily. "It's okay. Nothing that can't be fixed! I... I hope... I'll call someone for help."

-

So they'd been wrong. Some things were in fact beyond saving, and Whumpee's foot turned out to be one of them. Amputation, prosthetics... Whumpee was handling it badly.

"I know," Caretaker soothed. "I know, sweetheart. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But it'll be better later on, I promise, the doctors know what they're doing."

Whumpee let out a soft whimper, a scared one, and Caretaker thought their heart was going to shatter even further. The pet hadn't uttered a single word yet, — maybe they couldn't? — but their face was expressive enough to make Caretaker tear up.

"I'll be here," they said gently. "Every step of the way, yeah? I'll be here for you. I'll help. We'll figure it out."

How? Caretaker didn't know. They weren't planning on adopting a pet, but... they couldn't just leave Whumpee alone after all this. They had an obligation, a responsibility.

If anything, Whumpee's awe-filled eyes just made them more determined.

-

"One foot in front of the other. Slowly. There you go."

Physical therapy was a lot, but Whumpee seemed dead set on achieving every goal weeks earlier than planned. The staff had said it would take four to eight weeks for Whumpee to be able to walk again... and many more before they fully got used to their artificial foot. They were out and about within two weeks, much to the dismay of said staff.

"They'll hurt themself," they'd said. "They should be resting."

"They're very eager to come home, I guess," Caretaker had replied awkwardly, but Whumpee had nodded along, completely serious.

So now they were walking along the corridors, Caretaker supporting Whumpee's weight less and less as they learned the ways and limits of their new life.

-

"I know it's not super fancy..." Caretaker opened the door and stood aside, motioning Whumpee inside. "But I guess it's... homey."

The pet surveyed their surroundings curiously, then turned back towards Caretaker with a bright smile. If they'd had a tail, Caretaker wagered they would've been wagging it.

It made them smile, too. "You like it?"

Whumpee nodded enthusiastically, walking over to the new pet bed Caretaker had bought just a week prior. They carefully set their belongings down next to it, — a shirt, a pair of pants, a pair of socks, and a collar — then made themself comfortable. Testing it out.

"I think we'll get along nicely," Caretaker commented absently. "I mean, I like you a lot. And you seem to like me. I don't see how this could go wrong."

-

Caretaker couldn't believe their eyes.

This couldn't be real.

Was that blood? Was that blood on Whumpee's clothes, and hands, and... face?

When the pet spotted them they immediately fell to their knees, whimpering in terror. They tried to wipe their hands on their victim's shirt, to no avail.

"Whumpee, what– what's– what's going on...?"

Whumpee was crying now, getting more and more desperate about ridding themself of the blood, as though that was the only evidence as to what they'd done. As though they could erase it all, if only they managed to erase the stains.

Caretaker walked closer, eyes wide with shock and horror. So much blood. So much gore.

Their sweet pet had done this?

"Why...?"

Whumpee scrambled to pick up some sort of equipment, struggling to hold it between bloody fingers. A lockpick, Caretaker noted distantly. They put it down on the floor in front of their feet, then quickly grabbed something else: a knife, this time. They put it next to the lockpick. Then they crawled back, flattening themself against the floor like a dog who knew it'd done something bad, whining as they waited for the verdict.

The stranger had been a burglar. Was it... self-defence? No, this had been a brutal murder.

"You're– you're a guard dog," Caretaker said softly, because they didn't think their voice could handle anything more. They got but a whimper in response. "This... Oh, dear. This is not... This is not good."

~

general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @whumpkinpie @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @whump-em @cyborg0109 @morning-star-whump @justanotherlokifan @2in1whump @lthrboy @justletmereadmywhump @florissimps @anonymous-tiangou @whump-kitty

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖 "Medically Necessitated" Story Masterlist

Rated: Explicit Pairing: Bucky x Steve Tags: a/b/o, age gap, past rape, rape recovery, pregnancy, trauma recovery, medical trauma, hurt/comfort, mentions of CSA, religious fundamentalism, gender dysphoria Summary: After a medical emergency brings him into the ER, Bucky escapes the religious cult he's been raised in. It's up to Steve, nurse practitioner and omega sex & repro specialist, to see him through a medically supervised heat.

1. Jori 2. Jerrica 3. Bucky 4. Bucky - cont'd 5. Robert Wheeler 6. Fatimah 7. Bucky - cont'd 8. Connor 9. Rebecca 10. Bea

A.N. As per usual, I'm playing with age gap relationships and have thus made the in-universe age of majority 19 instead of 18, to avoid any antis getting their panties (ha! rhymes) in a twist and reporting me to the Tumblr police. Bucky is 18-19, Steve is 31.

Housekeeping:

Trigger Warning: This fic contains occasional mentions of Steve's patients, who deal with issues of csa, sa, abortion, ptsd, and other traumas. Bucky is in the immediate aftermath of a rape at the story's start.

[justkidneying]

I see throat punches in media sometimes, and I wanted to explain why this is such a devastating (and illegal) move. Throat punches are no joke. I've always been taught that in the same way you would never point a gun at something you don't want to kill, you would never punch someone in the throat that you didn't want to kill.

Structure of the throat: the anterior part of the throat is very tender and unprotected. Out front you have the trachea, and behind that you have the esophagus. The thyroid cartilage (this is your Adam's apple) sits at the level of your voice box (larynx). About an inch above that, usually hiding up in your jawline, is the hyoid bone.

The Hyoid Bone: this is a horseshoe-shaped bone that freely sits in the anterior part of the neck (it's not connected to any other bone). It protects the airway, helps maintain neck posture, and assists with chewing, tongue movement, swallowing, and speaking. It's really bad to fracture this bone.

Throat Trauma: with any anterior neck trauma, there is going to be a lot of bruising (ecchymosis) and swelling (edema) in the laryngeal tissue. This swelling can compromise the airway, and the person can literally just die from that. If the force is in the right place and great enough, the hyoid bone will fracture. The bone will usually be fractured in several places. This is likely to also cause asphyxiation. You may also see hemoptysis (coughing up blood).

*I want to note that in strangulation injuries, the hyoid bone is commonly fractured. However, it's only found in 1/3 of homicides from strangulation. *

Timeline: okay, so obviously, the person may just grab their throat, choke, and die. But do you wanna know the part that freaks me out? The fact that patients can be asymptomatic for up to 72 hours (THREE FUCKING DAYS!!!). That's scary because the patient can be fine, they think they just have some bruising and a little swelling, then their throat starts spasming and they die of asphyxiation (crazy, right??).

Fighting: okay, back to fighting. Throat punches are not allowed in any combat sport, not even in no-holds barred (unless it's some weird kumite where you can kill your opponent). But, in normal combat sport this doesn't usually even happen on accident, because most people 1) tuck their chin and 2) know not to EVER punch someone in the neck. If it does happen, people will probably talk about it (like when a rabbit punch is thrown).

The only time I have seen a throat punch is with a kids' class (like 4-8 year olds) and that habit was quickly corrected. I think the only time it is ever appropriate would be in a life-or-death situation, but depending on the laws in your area I have no idea if it would be legal then (because you're probably going to kill that person).

Anyways, main point: don't punch people in the throat, like, ever. They may die, even if it is three days later.

[thatwhumpblogoverthere]

Ya boy (I’m nonbinary lol) is back from a fresh hospital visit, you know what that means?? I can use my own trauma for yooouuuu! Haha, I have the worst fear/anxiety around needles. Like damn near can’t get my shit together when I know they are drawing blood. (A fun little trauma response, if you will) I have never fainted from this, but I feel like a limp, useless heap afterwards. And I couldn’t stop the tears! :>

A whumpee that cannot hold still, cannot stop the tears that rush when they know the pain is coming, the draw of blood leaving their body. The nausea that accompanies the sensation. They can’t hold back their whimpers, their whines. And whumper is stone cold, they don’t respond, they don’t even look whumpee in the eye. They hold them down, tighten their restrains, and continue their work. Maybe they’re experimenting on the whumpee, trying to find their weakness if the whumpee is a hero or some immortal creature. One way or another, their tortures are close and invasive and cold. So damned cold. Whumpee cannot stop their shaking, the room is freezing and their body is in shock. Fear is all their body knows. They can’t stop their jaw from clicking, more needles. More blood. More medicines that burn their veins and cause their entire body to go too cold or too hot. The hyper-awareness of the IV shoved rather harshly into their bruised skin. Where so many marks lay. Whumpee begs for someone to help, to give them anything to stay warm, a towel, a blanket, a jacket. Anything. Whumper’s workers ignore them just the same. And the chill is endless. The silence stretches. Whumpee lay helpless to it all. But hey, at least the TV is on.

[macgyvermedical]

hello!

what could i expect to happen if ny blorbo ends up falling from a significant height and breaks their legs (like Bad. multiple fractures. and other injuries from falling that i dont know of) and with a low resource environment? and how could the people around them help them and treat it (if they can really do much at all)

i know that many falls from large heights (that ended in death) caused the legs to break in So Many pieces fron the force of falling and the weight of the person, so ive kind of based it on that, but i dont know whats the most realistic for survival.

the setting is a bit fantasy based so things can be explained away with magic and what not too

There's a difference between a low resource setting where the characters are trained medical professionals used to working in a low resource setting, and one where those who can help are lay responders.

Now, this is a pretty dire situation. In addition to the broken legs, they probably have a broken pelvis, internal bleeding, a head injury, and some other organ and soft tissue injuries. Even with the best trauma and orthopedic surgery available in modern day high resource areas, there is a very high likelihood that your character would face at least one amputation and potentially be in a hospital/rehab facility for 6 months to a year.

With untrained responders this character probably doesn't have a chance.

I would say their best bet for survival would be surgery, which can be done in a low resource setting with trained personnel, given certain conditions are met.

Low resource with trained personnel are likely not going to be able to pin the bones in place like in high resource settings, so your character's best bet would be to have both legs amputated at the highest break. Once that occurs, it's easier to manage the pelvic fracture with a band or splint that can hold the pelvis together. They would also likely have to open his abdomen to manage the internal bleeding and potentially sew organs back together.

Head injuries are easy to monitor without high tech devices (basically you wake the patient up every 2 hours and assess whether they can answer orienting questions like who they are, where they are, what day it is, and what happened and chart any changes), but if they go bad (like, if they start bleeding into the brain) this character probably doesn't have too much of a chance. Burr holes are a thing, but they're mostly diagnostic rather than therapeutic. I'd say don't let the patient go bad and you're good.

I would probably use magic to induce anesthesia if you can't use it directly to heal.

[weirdstrangeandawful]

TW: explosion, medical

Whumpee who just had shrapnel embedded in them from a blast staggering the short distance back to safety and just crumpling into some semblance of a seated position against a wall. Medics rush over, thinking they’re seriously hurt but they don’t feel pain and have to stop them because they need a moment for the adrenaline rush to die down so they can tell if they’re okay or not.

Bonus if they’ve got trauma from previous similar events and instead of calming down, their body just goes into full on rising panic mode.

[whump-queen]

Break their ankles

An intrusive whump thought of the day

Content: broken bones, intimate whumper, medical whump, ptsd, brief needle & drug mention.

A whumpee with broken ankles desperately crawling for the door, clawing at it uselessly after whumper has slammed it shut, sobbing and begging to be let go.

Or trying to crawl away from whumper, painfully dragging their limp, broken bones along the floor behind them.

An amused whumper sitting and watching it happen, laughing at whumpee’s pathetic attempts to get away, knowing that whenever they’ve decided their captive has gotten far enough, they can yank them back by the chain around their neck and drag them back over with ease. What’re they gonna do, fight back?

Whumpee being forced to rely on whumper for every little thing despite loathing them with every fiber of their being.

Whumper having to carry them everywhere (bridal style)

Bonus points if it’s an intimate whumper and they scoop them up and coo sweet things into whumpee’s ear all “aw, poor sweet thing, don’t worry, I’ve got you,” While whumpee sobs hopelessly into their captor’s chest, disgusted with the closeness and absolutely horrified and ashamed at how helpless they feel like this.

Or maybe whumpee tries to claw their way out of their captor’s arms, and whumper just drops them, laughing at how useless and pathetic they look when they collapse in a crying heap on the floor, unable to go anywhere without whumper’s help.

More bonus points if the bones don’t heal properly and they can never walk quite right again, or if standing or walking for too long causes sharp pains to shoot up through their ankles and they collapse from the agony.

If they ever get a recovery arc, having to get their ankles rebroken and reset to heal properly— The sensation of their ankles breaking all over again bringing back horribly traumatic flashbacks, feeling like they’re back with whumper again, that they’re being tortured again, until they’re screaming and begging and calling the doctors sir and sobbing desperately to be let go. The medical staff is horrified.

And maybe they’re writhing around and thrashing so much that they have to be restrained and sedated in order for the medical staff to reset their freshly broken bones.

A nurse jamming a needle into their neck and emptying an entire syringe into their bloodstream with an “It’s alright, sweetheart, this is for your own good.”

Whumpee in a full-scale flashback begging through tears when they feel the needle, “please, please no— please sir, please don’t, please don’t do this— I— I’ve been good— please I— I can’t—please-“ until the sedative kicks in and their head lolls to the side.

Feel free to add your own prompts/ thoughts! this trope won’t leave my head rn

More prompts like this

[dgalerab]

yooooo just found the buildings brush in clip studio?? hell yeah.

(part 1)(part 2)(part 3)

[crash-bump-bring-the-whump]

Whumperless Whump Event - Day 16

IT'S TIME. FOR THE FIVE SENTENCE GAME WISDOM TOOTH REMOVAL PIECE EXPANSION

TWs: surgery, needle mention, injections, dental office, drugging, fear that reads as a dental phobia, it's really soft piece tho like the medicine bits are so normal

Half-conscious / Delirious / “You would never say that in your right mind…”

“Hey, hey, baby. Eyes on me.” Bastian held Mariano’s hand tighter, feeling him trembling like a leaf even with the anxiety meds in his system and the wards around his wrists. “I’m here, you’re safe. It’s just going to be like blinking.”

Mariano sat, already halfway drugged and trembling in the dentist’s chair for his wisdom tooth removal. “Just like blinking. Nothing else is going to happen and I can’t hurt anyone.”

“Alright Mariano, keep breathing for me and count to ten. I’ve never, ever lied to you about what’s gonna happen in that chair, and I won’t start now.” The dental assistant, Danni, said, keeping the needle out of Mariano’s field of view as she prepared the general anesthetic. "It's just gonna be the four taken out, I'll make sure you won't feel a thing."

Bastian hummed in agreement, watching the older woman press the needle into Mariano’s arm. Fear flashed even stronger through their pact as the plunger descended, even with the soft drawl of the woman who’d cleaned his teeth for years at this point talking him through it. Bastian felt his own heart skip a beat from the sheer terror he felt, and held Mariano’s hand even tighter as he remembered that this was just a fraction of what was ripping through his boyfriend.

Not ten seconds later, wide, dark eyes started to flutter and Mariano’s breathing started to even out again.

“That’s it, Mariano, just lean back and let me do all the watchin’ out. Close your eyes and take a nap.” Danni said, carefully helping him get situated as he got heavier and heavier, yanked firmly towards a deep, complete sleep whether he liked it or not. “Your husband is right here. I won’t let him run off, neither.”

Bastian couldn't help laughing as Mariano mumbled something that sounded like complaint about walking afterwards, and then he was gone. Danni laughed, getting his mouth propped open and double checking the vital monitors as the dentist came in.

The surgery was...more mundane than Bastian expected, with Bastian just holding Mariano's hand the whole time and making small talk. He didn't know why, but he'd expected something more intense. More shouting for a scalpel, and less of listening to the dentist quietly singing along to the pop radio that drifted through the air. He even rapped along to most of the features that played.

Bastian started to really understand why Mariano insisted on this team being the one to operate on him.

Before he really knew it, the dentist had finished up the last of the stitches and then Danni was nudging Bastian's arm with her elbow as the others packed everything up. "He's all yours now. You can hold him, just wait in here 'till he wakes up, okay?"

Bastian didn't need to be told twice. He scooped Mariano up into his arms, letting Danni unravel the monitor wires. "Call you if the stuff starts freaking out and making noise?"

"You know it. I'll be back in sixty seconds, Doctor Calwell is just a lost puppy after a surgery." Danni said, shaking her head as she scurried off.

She was true to her word, returning after a minute to pick up the clipboard with Mariano's paperwork. She settled in, writing down numbers at certain intervals and checking Mariano over. More small talk, about their plans for the day, her plans for the weekend, easy things. They even started swapping tattoo stories.

In the middle of her talking about her weirdest tattoo, Mariano groaned. He turned his face against Bastian's bicep, skewing his glasses. One scarred hand started to raise up towards his face, and Danni gently caught him by the wrist.

"Not yet, Mariano. You're gonna take your eye out like that." Mariano frowned and just let his arm go limp in her hold with an unhappy mumble. Danni laughed. "I know, I'm just the worst, aren't I? Promised I'd keep your husband here though, and here he is."

Mariano allowed his arm to be placed on his stomach, grumbling more as he latched onto Bastian's shirt instead.

"So you'll be giving me the stuff on what to do?" Bastian asked, thumb sliding along Mariano's arm.

"Of course. The doctor will come in and look him over when he wakes up a little more, and then you'll get your instructions and be free to go." Danni glanced at her watch before standing. "Actually, let me go get him. I'll bet he forgot and is about to leave for lunch." She hurried out the door.

Mariano's grip tightened on Bastian's shirt and he looked up, pact rings blown wide and glasses all but falling off his face. "Don' leave." He slurred. "Please."

Bastian paused, frowning. "Why would I leave you?"

"Can't...can't walk. Rescues aren't..." Mariano's voice cracked. "'S not allowed."

Bastian shifted Mariano around so that he could cup his face. "Shh. Hey. I'm not going anywhere without you." Mariano's eyes never left his face. "You're my mage. That means I've always got you, no matter what."

Mariano couldn't seem to settle, though. Not until he was buckled into the passenger seat of Bastian's van, aftercare instructions tucked away inside the glove box. Bastian rested his hand at the back of Mariano's neck as he pulled away from the dental office parking lot, and finally, finally, Mariano started to relax for real.

@whump-captain @whumpr @whumperofworlds @lektricwhump @cyberwhumper

@bxtterflystxtches @inscrutable-shadow @honeybees-125 

[whumpshaped]

hello, I loved that one shot you wrote where whumpee asks caretaker's help with overcoming their trauma, by asking caretaker to tell them the command to kneel

can you do something similar, but whumpee asking caretaker to help them overcome their fear of needles??? (whumper had tortured them with drugs multiple times, so now they fear needles.) whumpee really needs medical treatment in the moment and at first they are compliant, but just when the nurse is about to inject them they scream and beg not to get the shot. whumpee thinks it'll be easier with caretaker because they trust them, so they'll not be so scared in the future (also doesn't go well, but they're working on it)

content: needles, phobia whump, past trauma, medical whump, hospital setting, rocky recovery

"Whatever I do, whatever I say... Just... Just hold me tight, okay? Hold me as tight as you can. Please."

Caretaker was fidgeting with the hem of their shirt, looking anywhere but at Whumpee. "I'm not sure I can do this."

"Please. I need— I need this blood draw. It's very important. I just... can't do it alone. I get really scared. Last time was so embarrassing, please help."

They slowly nodded. "Okay, um... I'll try my best."

Whumpee gently took Caretaker's hands in their own, stopping their fidgeting. Caretaker glanced up at them, still feeling awful about what they were about to do.

"Thank you. Truly. You're helping, Caretaker. I promise."

This reassurance would play over and over in their mind as they held down their friend, listening to their screams of sheer terror with tears in their eyes.

~

this is one of my last drabbles here, please feel free to follow me on my new blog @sowhumpshaped

[andithewhumper]

The Lab (3)

Getting the motivation to write House of MacCaélan again. I love this series so much and have been brainrotting it for a while. Hope y'all enjoy. :)

First - Masterlist - Prev

Content: Medical examination (not in much detail), panic attacks, self deprecation

Quinn could feel their breath being taken away when they followed Master into the lab. The room was huge. It was full of big machines that came out of the floor and the ceiling. There were glass bottles and vials everywhere and spools of film sitting in a stack next to one of the counters. Quinn wondered how it all worked. Master must be really smart to be able to use all of these machines. It was scary. Quinn shook as they thought about all the ways that Master might use them in her experiments. She had said that she wouldn’t use Quinn in her experiments but Quinn knew that it was only a matter of time until she changed her mind. Their old Master said that no one could resist hurting Quinn. They knew that their new Master would want to use them eventually. Would Master cut Quinn up like their old Master did? Quinn’s mind raced with horrible ideas and they could feel their knees knocking together. 

Master marched into the room and Quinn, trembling, tripped over their own feet as they hesitated to go through the doorway. Master turned quickly to catch them and Quinn shook in her arms. Quinn cursed their own incompetence. Surely their Master would punish them for this. They were so useless they couldn’t even walk properly. 

“Careful, Quinn. You can’t go falling in my lab, you might get hurt.” It must have been a result of Quinn shaking, but they could have sworn that their Master sounded amused. 

“I’m sorry, Master. It won’t happen again. I-” 

“Calm yourself, Quinn. Just correct yourself in the future. If I want an apology out of you, you will know.” 

Quinn nodded, not sure how to respond to the comment. They righted themself with help from their Master. They wondered why they weren’t being punished. Surely Master didn’t want some useless thrall that fell into things and broke tools in her lab. No-Quinn reminded themself-Master doesn’t want you as a thrall remember. You are so useless you can’t even serve your intended purpose correctly. She only took you because she had to, not because she wants you. 

Quinn knew that they were a burden. Their only use was for blood and entertainment. Otherwise they were just in the way. Quinn wondered how long it would take for their new Master to punish them for that. 

They followed Master diligently. They were led into a separate room with a medical table and several cabinets. This was clearly where Master was going to do experiments on Quinn. They forced their feet to go forward. Master had not told them they were allowed to stop walking and they needed to prove to her that they could obey. Then maybe she would go easy on her thrall-not that Quinn deserved it. They had messed up so much already. 

“Alright Quinn, sit on the table for me.” Quinn hears Master’s order and their eyes shoot to her. Of course they had hoped this wouldn’t happen, but it was naive of them to believe it wouldn’t. Quinn tried and failed to hold back tears as they sniffled and nodded.

“Y-yes, Master.” They climbed onto the table, ready to be cut into. At least they thought they were ready. The second they sat down and faced Master though, Quinn pulled their legs up to their chest and buried their face into their knees. 

“I’m so-o-orry, Muh-Master,” they sobbed into their knees. After several hours of trying to hold it together, it had finally started to crumble. They waited, tense for a strong hand to strike them or pry them apart to secure on the operating table. After a few moments when that didn’t happen Quinn looked up. Master was hovering over them looking annoyed. Her eyes were focused on Quinn and they could see her creep closer to them. Here it was then, the strike. Master brought her hand down on Quinn’s back but it didn’t hurt. Quinn was confused, why was Master just rubbing their back? The confusion pushed more tears out of their eyes.

“Go ahead, sweetheart. Just cry. I know you need it so much. You are allowed to cry.” Master’s voice was soft in their ear and when Quinn heard the words they thought their heart might burst with relief. 

The release was heavenly. Sobs racked through Quinn’s broken body and they didn’t even notice as their Master pulled them into her chest. Quinn sobbed until they thought they might just fall asleep. What kept them from drifting too much was a very grounding voice whispering praise into their ear. It must have been Quinn’s imagination, though. There was no way Master was actually saying all of those things. Quinn wasn’t a good thrall, they had never been. 

“Good girl, Quinn. You’re doing so good for me. You’re very obedient aren’t you, sweetheart?” Master’s voice was clearer now and Quinn had a hard time believing that they had made it up. “Are you back with me now, Quinn?” 

“Y-yes, Master.” Quinn tried to push the tears away with their hands so that Master didn’t have to look at the imperfection of her thrall any longer. 

“Alright. Perhaps I should explain to you what is about to happen. I am not going to hurt you, Quinn. I am just going to check your injuries and your general health. Do you think you can handle that for me?” Master ran her hand down Quinn’s cheek and they tried very hard not to lean into it. They were a bad thrall and didn’t deserve Master’s affection. They nodded in response to Master before remembering that Master didn’t like that.

“Yes, Master. I will behave.” They meant it. They really wanted to be good for Master. They wanted to prove that even after all of the ways they had already messed up, they were worth keeping. Master didn’t need to give them to old Master’s friend. 

“Good, Quinn. Now I need you to put your legs down so I can begin.” Master stepped away from them and Quinn slowly unfolded himself and let their legs hang off the examination table. 

Master grabbed some tools and began giving Quinn instructions. They behaved as much as they could through the whole ordeal. Master directed them to stand and walk around on their toes, lay down and allow them to feel around their stomach. That part was the hardest for Quinn. They yearned to be able to protect the soft parts of themself, but they clenched their jaw and allowed Master to touch them wherever she wanted. When Master strayed down between their legs, they expected a new kind of torment to begin, but Master simply peaked behind their smalls and put them back as quickly as they had been removed. When the whole thing was over, Quinn was still shaking, but they could feel themself relax just a little bit. 

Master seemed very pleased with them. “That was very good, Quinn. You behaved so well for me.”

“I-I did, Master?” The words were out before Quinn could even register them. They weren’t meant to question their Master. Of course Master was right, even if Quinn couldn’t possibly imagine how they could have behaved well enough. They squirmed when being prodded and hesitated after commands throughout Master examining them. Surely that wasn’t good enough behavior for praise?

“Of course, sweetheart. You did so well.” Master sounded so sure of herself that Quinn let themself believe it. Maybe just this once, Quinn was good enough for praise.

Taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @whumpycries @a-formless-entity

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