#shrapnel injuries

[zoethehead]

Here's the redo of the story "caught in a blast." This time, I changed it to be about Antoni, an ex crimson saint who rebelled against the Almagis.

All that Antoni remembered was cussing out his former boss through a holographic intercom. The dictator/boss didn't take kindly to this and turned on the self destruction chips embedded in the armor that Antoni wore.

A bright flash of light and a feeling of acceptance washed over Antoni.

He thought that he had died, but that wasn't the case, he felt a stinging pain throughout his body. His head was hurting the worst.

His eyes opened to the blurry sight of a cottage, as a bitter taste was in his mouth.

He coughed, slightly choking on the medicinal slurry given to him.

"Easy does it, son. You're badly hurt, it's best that you take it easy." An elderly voice said.

His sight focused on an old Nuross who was sat in a chair near where Antoni laid.

"W-what happened?" Antoni asked, his throat dry and sore.

"My grandson saw an explosion nearby, he found you in really bad shape, you've been out for awhile now. " the Elder said.

Antoni tried to sit up from where his injured body was propped, a white hot pain jolting through his nerves, his head swam as he laid back down, trying to clear the black spots and stars in his vision.

"Woah, don't get up so soon, son; you suffered a ton of injuries. " the Elder said.

Antoni let out a sigh. "How bad was the damage?" He asked.

"A concussion, broken ribs, a broken arm, a ton of wounds caused by shrapnel and fire, and a badly broken leg, I hate to break it to ya; but I had to amputate that leg." The Elder explained. 

Antoni couldn't believe it, he had lost one of his legs. In a panic, he pulled back the quilt that covered him; revealing a stump where one of his legs used to be.  He was in shock, breathing quickly at the sight.

"Please calm down, sir." The Elder said, trying to calm Antoni down.

Eventually; Antoni calmed down, laying back onto the bed, he felt the quilt being pulled back up to his chest.

How was he gonna deal with this? He had lost a leg and was badly hurt, as he closed his eyes again and fell back into sleep.

[serickswrites]

Field

Warnings: blood, wounds, shrapnel, explosion, injury, field medicine, unconsciousness

"PLEASE!" Whumpee roared as they thrashed in pain.

"Hold still, Whumpee. Hold still," Caretaker ordered as they tried to take stock of just how much shrapnel was in Whumpee's back.

"CAN'T! H-H-HURTS!" Whumpee screamed as Caretaker's fingers accidentally brushed against a particularly bloody piece of metal in their back.

"I know it hurts. I know it hurts. But you have to be still. Please, Whumpee. I need to help you."

Caretaker's unspoken words hung in the air. Let me save you. You saved me. Let me save you.

Whumpee had shoved Caretaker down, covering Caretaker with their long, lean body. Whumpee took the brunt of the shrapnel from the explosion. Caretaker would be dead if Whumpee hadn't. But now they couldn't let Whumpee die.

Whumpee's thrashing slowed. "Please," they whispered quietly. "H-H-Hurtssssss," their words slurring. "C-C-Care'rrrrrr."

"Ah, ah, none of that, Whumpee." Caretaker tapped Whumpee's clammy cheek as Whumpee's eyes rolled into the back of their head. "Stay with me, Whumpee. Stay. Please."

But Whumpee didn't break. Their breath came in shallow gasps. "I am sorry," Caretaker whispered as they realized they had to hurry. "I'll be quick." Their fingers wrapped around a particularly large piece of shrapnel. "I'll get you bandaged up." And they pulled the piece out. The piece pulled free in a loud squelching sound. "I'll get you to help. Just hold on."

Tags: @wollemi-whump

[sabers-and-other-ocs]

"They come and go true, but it increases as the next Extermination gets closer, height of it is after of course and then a few more weeks of steady before dying off," Violet mused over the pattern while showing the way into the building through a side entrance for staff.

"Well we do have a case that had come in that needs direct attention, they have some wounds that are too severe for the salve to provide enough help so I guess if that's what you really want to see first then you're in luck," they added while heading to one of the emergency rooms.

What looks to be a child or young teen was in the room with burns that were healing but many shrapnel injuries that were not. They were many and deep though the staff present were able to get it removed and enough painkillers in the kid to put her to sleep.

@widdlestwucifer

Finally the old building was finished being renovated and almost all staff positions were filled, a mix of Hellborn and Sinner demons.

Violet was glad to see the new clinic in the Pride ring finally open, they hoped this would make accessing Healthcare easier for both Sinners and Hellborn that live in this ring, their mom even helped develop a medicine that helped heal wounds made by angel steel.

There were already patients getting appointments made or already being seen by staff after the cetemony ended though Violet didn't expect to see Lucifer himself showing up. He was certainly invited to the opening ceremony but Violet hadn't seen him during and with how reclusive he had been in recent years they weren't expecting to ever actually see him. Most around likely didn't even know who he was but his angelic aura was not lost on Violet.

[whumpypepsigal]

Obliterated s01e04: “We gotta close you up before you bleed to death.”

[where-is-my-whump]

The Rookie 2x17 ^ 5x05 v

[dangraccoon]

Foolish

Day 22 ~ bleeding through bandages ~ "oh, that's not good" ~

Cody

Word Count: 2418 Content: blood, mild gore, injury, blood loss, coughing up blood, ignoring medical advice, cody is oblivious to obi-wan's very obvious feelings, description of removing shrapnel from one's own wounds

A harsh cough clawed its way through his lungs and up his throat. He covered his mouth with his arm as he hacked. Pulling it away–once he felt as though he could actually breathe again–he saw the little red flecks.

Clone Marshal Commander Cody, Commander of the 7th Sky Corps and the renowned 212th Attack Battalion was not a fool. He wasn’t stupid enough not to notice when he was injured, nor was he unaware of the extent of his injuries. He was a big believer in getting help–especially of the medical variety–when needed.

But that did not stop Cody from having a to-do list that would span from Kamino to Mandalore to get through with relative speed. It did not stop his need to ensure that the medics had enough help and could save the brothers who were worse off. 

No, he would seek their medics out soon–the pain in his side would force him onto an exam table whether he liked it or not–but right now there were more pressing things for him to worry about.

“Patch, do you have enough hands for triage?” he asked, tapping away at his datapad.

“Yes, sir,” his chief medical officer nodded. “And we’ve got shinies earning their first aid stripes as we speak.”

“Good. Send the status list as soon as you’ve got it. How are our supplies?”

“They’re holding for now. Probably going to need a restock next run ashore.”

“Understood. Have those shinies keep a running inventory if they’ve got nothing else to do.”

“Are you injured, sir?” Patch said, eyeing the commander.

His CMO knew him a bit too well. “Nothing that can’t wait or I can’t wrap on my own, Patch,” he said with a well-practiced ease.

Patch’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “Your personal kit stocked, or did you need an extra roll of bandages?”

“I’ve got my own,” he waved him off, starting to head off to his next task. “You’d need them more anyway.”

After he’d checked in with a few other officers–hiding his grimace behind his helmet–he finally found himself in his office, blessedly alone.

He groaned as he went through the practiced motions of removing his armor, biting the inside of his cheek as he pulled away the soaked fabric of his undersuit. Trying to position himself in a good way to see how those few minuscule fragments worked their way into his skin punched the air out of his lungs. His hand pressed against his side as he fought until his breath returned.

“Kriff,” he hissed as he opened his desk drawer. He found the small jar he’d been looking for, scowling as he opened it. He was running shorter on bacta than he realized. 

He angled the lid of the canister to get a better look at his wounds. He would say that most of his good ideas were executed on the battlefield, but he was decently impressed with himself about affixing a small mirror to the bacta container. 

He pulled at his aching flesh near the wound. He could just see the sharp, twisted bits of metal that were making themselves at home in the scarred skin of his abdomen. 

Leaning back across the desk, he huffed out a quiet “damn it” as he strained to reach into the bottom drawer. His hand finally found purchase on the handle, sliding it open to reveal the contraband he sought.

Half a smirk pulled at his lips as he grabbed the neck of the bottle of ship-made moonshine. 

He’d known about the still some of Ghost Company had set up in their quarters and while it was obviously against regulations, Cody couldn’t care less about it. He’d told them as much once they found out he knew. As long as they didn’t report for duty drunk and the still itself didn’t explode, how much harm could it reasonably do?

Right now, however, Cody was grateful for it as he pulled his knife from his belt. Boil and Waxer might’ve given him a share in a fancy bottle they’d swiped from the garbage at 79s, but the stuff still could burn the hair off a loth cat. He twisted off the cap, pouring it over his knife. It was going to sting like a bitch, but he could rationalize not taking up the medics’ time for something he could easily do himself.

He leaned back into the awkward position he needed to access those damned pieces of shrapnel. He pressed his finger against one fragment’s edge, pinching it between his fingernail and the side of his knife.

He breathed in deeply, then out and pulled, hissing at the slight tearing he inflicted on himself.

He pulled the other three pieces out with relative ease, then slathered the open wounds with bacta and wrapped his abdomen with bandages tight.

He shook his head a little, trying to clear the residual adrenaline from his mind, then went about cleaning up. He dropped his torn undersuit shirt down the recycling chute, put his supplies back in their spots, and pulled open another drawer in his desk to retrieve one of the shirts from the extra sets of blacks he had stashed.

Once he put his armor on and his blacks covered the arching wound, he finally felt as though he could go about his business as usual.

He was only able to check two more tasks from his list before he wandered into the one person he knew he couldn’t fool.

“Ah, there you are, Commander,” General Kenobi smiled warmly. “I’ve traversed half the ship looking for you.”

“Apologies, sir,” he said simply. He may not have been a fool, but Cody knew he was a terrible liar. He couldn’t lie badly if he didn’t say anything about it at all.

Anyone else wouldn’t have noticed the slight shift in the way Kenobi eyed him, but Cody knew better; he saw the minuscule falter in that charming smile, the way the curiosity in his eyes deepened with suspicion.

Cody didn’t drop the polite smile he’d affixed to his face, even as he could feel the nearly imperceptible whisper of his general’s inspection of him through the Force.

“Yes, well,” Kenobi continued. “I believe we have a debrief to go over and a strategy meeting to attend. Shall we?”

“Yes, sir,” Cody nodded, walking side by side with his general.

“Have the medics finished their headcount?” the general asked. Cody knew where he was going with this, but he supposed playing dumb was the only reasonable course of action.

“Yes, sir. Got the report a few minutes ago,” he said, pulling the list up on his datapad, and handing it over to him. “Two men were lost, and most others had minimal injuries. The worst cases have already been taken care of, and that new batch of shinies have patched up practically everyone else.”

“The worst cases have been taken care of,” Kenobi repeated, his countenance was soft and friendly, but made of durasteel. Here came the hit. “I suppose that explains why only the top half of your undersuit is clean, why you reek of bacta and that still Boil and Waxer think I don’t know about, and why you’re so protective of your left side, to the point where you’re walking on my left.”

“Observant as always, General,” Cody hummed. 

“Yes, I seem to be getting better at reading your tells, haven’t I?” he deadpanned. “Why didn’t you see Patch?”

Cody almost sighed. “Patch isn’t hurting for patients, and as I said, it’s been taken care of.”

“And you think I’m concerned about our medic keeping busy in the middle of a war?” Kenobi nearly growled. The mask was slipping. “Cody–”

“There is nothing to be concerned about, sir.”

“Oh, I’d beg to differ,” Kenobi snarked with a glare.

“I’m a grown man, General Kenobi, I can take care of myse–”

Before he could finish the sentence, Kenobi grabbed his arm, dragging him behind the closing doors to his side. He pinned Cody between himself and the back wall of a storage closet.

Cody was not a fool, but he could admit where his statements may have been… ill-advised. And given the way Kenobi scowled at him, he was certain he was about to hear a list of all the ways he’d fucked up that conversation.

“I know you can take care of yourself, Cody,” Kenobi scolded. “But I am concerned about you, whether you feel I should be or not. I want to be concerned about you!”

Cody may have been a fool. He struggled to process what his general might actually be admitting to as he continued.

“It makes me crazy when you tend to your own wounds because it means that no one knows how hurt you actually are,” Kenobi huffed in a humorless laugh. “And then you pretend as though nothing even happened? I know you were too close to those grenades, I know you were hit, and I know you forgot to clean your vambrace.”

His vam–…oh. Oh, right. Damn.

“You preach to our men about accepting help when it is needed yet after every battle, the second you can hide away in that office of yours and ‘take care of it’ before anyone can call you on your hypocrisy! Maker, Cody, just– just let someone care about you.” 

Cody was definitely a fool. 

Kenobi’s shoulders rose and fell with the short huffs he breathed as he recovered from his outburst. He finally pushed himself upright and out of Cody’s space to turn away from him, and Cody missed the proximity immediately.

Kenobi’s eyes slid shut as he took a deep breath.

“Apologies, Commander,” he said after what felt like a small eternity, his voice still with the edges of his anger. “That was an… inappropriate outburst. Please, see the medics about your injuries before they get any worse. Don’t have me make it an order.”

The general was about to open the door when Cody stepped toward him. 

“General, I’m s–” he was interrupted by a harsh cough, worse than the one he’d forgotten to clean up after before, his arm coming up to break the expelled air once more.

“Cody?” Kenobi said, all the previous frustrated tone vanished.

Cody continued to fight his own lungs for the ability to breathe again. Something wasn’t right. His right arm wrapped around his side to put pressure on those jagged little cuts. Hints of the syllables he tried to pronounce came out in gasps. “Ca– can’t–” he stammered. The coughing subsided, but the breathlessness persisted.

As Kenobi began to come to his side to support him, Cody tried to grasp at one of the shelves, his right hand painting it with that rich red that he could feel leaking from his side.

“Oh, that’s not good,” Kenobi hissed, hauling Cody against his side. “You’re going to the medbay, now.”

As they moved, Cody’s feet stumbling below him, Kenobi barked orders into his comm. Patch and another medic met them partway with a gurney, Patch muttering some sarcastic remark about not needing a medic that Cody couldn’t quite parse out as the oxygen mask slipped over his face.

He should be focusing on the steady supply of that precious gas being pushed into his lungs, but all he could seem to notice was Kenobi.

His general moved with them of course, taking in all the information Patch rattled off, offering his own insights when Cody didn’t answer. 

“He’s losing a lot of blood,” the other medic called as they arrived in the medbay. Fluke, his brain supplied his name.

Patch had run off for specific supplies as Fluke pulled away the armor in his way, throwing it carelessly behind him. He didn’t hesitate to cut away the flexible midsection of his kit, nor the black undersuit beneath it.

“Kriff,” he hissed as Patch came back with a scanner. “Patch he used bacta, he’s already knitting back up.”

“Damnit,” Patch snarled. “How far’s it gone?”

“Maybe 60, 70 percent.”

“Kriff. Cody, we’ll need to open your chest if this scan shows you missed one of the frags.”

Cody had just enough presence of mind to roll his eyes.

“And I thought 16-year-old Anakin was stubborn,” Kenobi snarked, but his voice held just a slight shake that should have rattled Cody. “He looks like he’s going to pass o–”

“–at’s fine. – have to kno– –yway.”

—

Then Cody opened his eyes. He knew he was in the medbay. He must not have gotten all of that shrapnel like he thought he had. He knew he must’ve been in a tank after they got it out if the way he smelled was any indication. He knew that he’d be berated by Patch–he supposed it was a slight comfort that Fluke was new enough that he didn’t quite have the nerves to growl at stubborn COs, though he was sure he’d find his way soon–and by the General.

“Welcome back,” the General said from his side, nearly startling him.

“General,” he croaked in greeting. He moved to sit up but hissed as his side ached. “Guess I… missed a piece?”

“Two, actually.” Kenobi watched his struggle with a slightly bemused smile. “I don’t suppose you’ve learned any lessons, have you?”

Cody huffed out what could generously be called a chuckle. “Me? Never, sir.”

Despite his exasperation, Kenobi smiled as he shook his head in disbelief. “Before the war, for a decade, I was sure it was raising Anakin that would send me to an early grave.”

“Bit of a handful, sir?”

“Cody, stop trying to talk,” Kenobi smirked. “Your throat’s probably killing you right about now and we don’t need you to make it worse.”

Cody would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of sticking his tongue out in protest.

“I know better now,” the general continued. “No, what’s going to kill me is you. And your crazy brothers.”

The haze of anesthesia and bacta still clouded his mind, so Cody, very smartly said “What?”

Kenobi chuckled. “It won’t be the war that kills me, my dear,” he hummed. “It’ll be the stress of worrying over you, you foolish man.”

Cody felt his face and neck heat.

“I care for you, Cody,” the general whispered, gently taking Cody’s hand in his. “Quite deeply.”

Cody blinked as he struggled to put the words together. “You… about me?”

Kenobi smiled, warming Cody’s face even more. “Perhaps we’ll reopen this discussion once you’re not on pain meds.”

« Previous Day Next Day »

Thanks for reading! - River

Whumptober 2024 Masterlist DangRaccoon Masterlist Taglist Form Read on AO3

Tags: @nekotaetae @lokigirlszendaya @get-wr3ckered @jediknightjana @idoubleswearimawriter @lucyysthings @unstable-kiwi @6oceansofmoons @l3xi3luv @savebytheodoresnonjosestuff @winter-phoenix1995 @nomercyforthewarrior @padawancat97 @flowered-bicycles @error6gendernotfound @techs-goggles9902

[clickerflight]

Muir: Part 2 - Bonded

And part two for ya. Hope you enjoyed. Perhaps a bit rushed but I still had fun with it.

Masterlist

Part 1

Content: human police whumpee, bad injury, shrapnel, near death experience, vampire damaging his own wrist, a human becoming a vampire

...........................................

Joseph laid on the couch, slowly reading through some course work. Since he’d only been in stasis for a few years there wasn’t too much to catch up on compared to a lot of his peers. Still, he needed to catch up on some of the things that had happened. He would be out of the rehab program pretty soon, actually, once he finished the last of these papers and got all of his documents up to date. 

He was pretty sure he’d stick around the rehab center, though. He didn’t have very many vampire friends back in the day. Or many friends in general besides David. Now he had a bunch of interesting friends, including the humans that worked at the center, and he felt a part of something as he took on responsibility here and there to help other vampires that had been in stasis for much longer than he had been. He hadn’t felt like he was a part of something helpful since even before he met David. He wished his late bond mate could see where he was now. 

Joseph sighed very softly to himself, scrolling on his Devpad as he kept reading through his assignments. 

He was just thinking about getting up and starting dinner when he felt something pulse like a wave through his chest. He laid breathlessly on the couch, trying to figure out what was wrong when he felt it crash into him again before sucking at him like a wave headed back out to sea. 

He followed it, getting to his feet, putting his Devpad down in confusion. It wasn’t until the third wave hit him that he realized what was happening. Flashes of silver, screaming, and ritual knives shot through his mind and he was out of the apartment, keys in hand and no shoes on his feet. 

He sped off in his car, the familiar steering wheel spinning under his hands and he rushed to follow those waves. The feeling of his bondmate in danger. 

He and Muir didn’t mean to become bondmates, but it wasn’t exactly a surprise when it happened. One morning, after a late night drinking beers together and watching soccer on TV, Joseph had woken up to find that the huge gap David left behind had been partially filled. It wasn’t enough to fill the gap he knew was supposed to be filled, but it was comforting all the same. Muir hadn’t noticed anything besides having more energy at the end of the day, which he was always glad to have. 

And of course, Joseph could tell when Muir was in danger, when his heart was beating quickly in his chest, when he fell or got bruised tackling someone. And now Joseph could feel the wounds buried deep in Muir’s guts, could feel the scratches on his arm. He could feel death breathing down both of their necks. 

Joseph screeched to a halt at the warehouse. He couldn’t remember most of the drive. All he knew was that Muir was inside and Joseph needed to get to him now. 

Muir was only inside the warehouse for another couple of moments as officers pulled him out of there, talking loudly. 

Joseph threw himself at the barrier that had been set up around the warehouse and a tall vampire caught him, holding him back. 

“Sir, you can’t be here. There-”

“THAT’S MY BONDMATE!” Joseph shrieked. He didn’t care if he sounded hysterical. He was. 

He was released quickly and Joseph was grateful. The instincts coursing through him would have had this vampire’s windpipe in his teeth if that vampire hadn’t let him go. 

He slid across the sidewalk, hissing at Granger, who looked like she was about to tell him to go away. 

“Josh?” Joseph asked urgently, pushing Muir’s hair back and digging through his layers of clothing to see where the radiating pain was coming from. 

“Seph?” Muir asked weakly, opening his eyes. “What are you doin’ here, man?”

“You’re dying,” Joseph replied in a tone so cold and accusatory that even all of the officers and agents fell silent. 

“Nah, man,” Muir said with a nervous laugh. “I’ll be fine. The ambulance will be here in a moment and- AH.”

Joseph had finally peeled away the last layer. Whatever had blown through Muir was powerful enough to make it through his vest and had blown a huge hole into him. There was another one, just a bit higher. Joseph just knew it only barely missed Muir’s spine. He knew that there was shrapnel everywhere inside.

Someone swore behind Joseph at the blood flowing freely from the wounds and soaking his clothing. It was harder to tell on his black clothing, but on his previously white undershirt the entire thing up to his collar bones was soaked red. 

Someone got down, putting pressure on the wound, making Muir shout, but with how the blood flowed, they both knew he only had minutes to live. Joseph grabbed Muir with blood soaked hands, forcing him to make eye contact. 

Muir’s breath hitched in his chest under Joseph’s elbow. He knew what Joseph wanted. 

“Seph,” he said warningly. It was the only reason Joseph hesitated. “Wait… I’m, ah….”

“You’re going to die,” Joseph replied seriously. “You are going to die and there is nothing human medicine can do for you, no matter how good it is. Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m wrong.”

Muir looked him in the eyes, but he felt his own mortality as surely as Joseph could feel it. 

“I can’t lose you too,” Joseph said softly. 

Muir swallowed hard. His mouth felt so dry his teeth ached, his head pounding with blood loss. He looked up at the members of his team, who stared at him wide eyed, Granger watching with a hard look. 

He swallowed twice more before he said, “Okay. Okay. So, uh-” he blinked hard as his vision started to fade in and out with a weakening pulse. He could barely feel the pain of someone’s hands against his wounds anymore. 

“Drink,” Joseph said quickly, taking that as his permission. He quickly bit his own wrist open, putting it in Muir’s mouth. Muir did his best, sluggishly and numbly. 

He shuddered as the first swallow of blood hit his stomach. It was just slightly too cold to be normal human blood, but it seemed to heat him from the inside out. He felt strength begin to return to his limbs and something new, something loud in his mind screamed at him to latch on and drink quicker. 

When Joseph felt Muir grab on tighter, saw his arm come up to grab onto Joseph’s and hold it there, Joseph dipped down and bit into Muir’s jugular. Muir flinched at this, but the drive to feed was too powerful to fight now. Though the sight caused most of the group to look away, the humans and vampires alike huddled around them to hide them from view. 

Joseph kept going, keeping thoughts of David doing this for him out of his head as he cycled the blood between them three times, Muir twitching occasionally as something shifted or changed inside of himself. The ambulance got there as Muir opened his mouth to sink newly formed fangs into Joseph’s wrist a bit better, his wounds slowly beginning to seal. 

A paramedic pushed through the crowd and swore when he saw how bad the injuries were. Joseph licked the wound he made, helping heal it a bit and letting his fangs hide back up at the roof of his mouth like a snake, looking up at the paramedic as he gently tried to get Muir to unlatch from his wrist. 

“There wasn’t time,” Joseph explained and the Paramedic nodded. 

“Yeah, looks like it. We should take him along with us, anyways. And you. You probably gave him a fair amount of blood that you’ll be needing back.”

“Yeah,” Joseph said distractedly, trying to pry Muir off without breaking his new fangs. “Muir, come on. Let go.”

Muir whined, his eyes distant now. He would be out of it for a few days while his body recovered from the experience and his mind sorted itself out again. Joseph was grateful he and Muir could hide out in the ambulance away from the eyes of all the officers. From what he remembered, being a just barely formed fledgling was quite frankly embarrassing. 

………………………………..

Muir had to take time off from work. He could still do some of it at home and help with coordinating teams, but he couldn’t actually go into work. Not unless he wanted to bring Joseph along. If he could go right back to work. Joseph said he would get over it in a couple of weeks, but just the idea of leaving Joseph’s side for even 15 minutes seemed like the end of the world. He tried to get over it, tried every night to sleep in his own room, but he would have to give up after an hour of laying awake, shivering and unable to sleep as his incredibly slow heartbeat thumped louder and louder in his ears until he was driven to find safety in Joseph’s room.

Joseph didn’t mind the fact he tried to sleep in his own room every night, nor that Muir came in eventually to sleep with him instead. He let Muir work his way through the process, explaining what Muir could expect but not forcing him to do anything. Muir might be a fledgling, but he wasn’t a child. And the gaping hole that couldn’t quite be filled by Muir’s presence before, now was comfortably fitted besides a little sliver that remembered Joseph’s own Sire. 

Muir and Joseph sat together, Joseph working on updating his documents while Muir worked on applying for the documents necessary for being a vampire in this society, comparing notes as they worked. 

“This is infuriating,” Muir said moodily. 

Joseph reached out blindly as he filled in another detail, patting Muir on the face and making his bondmate snort. “There there. It’ll be alright. OW!”

He pulled his hand back, looking at the already healing fang marks in his hand. 

Muir just went back to his paperwork, looking smug enough that Joseph knew that wasn’t just an instinctive fledgling bite. 

Joseph drew himself up to his height on the stool, though he wasn’t taller than Muir and snarled. 

Muir yelped, leaping off his stool and tripping, collapsing to the floor. He got to his elbows, looking up over his chest at Joseph in shock. “What did you just do to me!?”

Joseph didn’t reply, simply waggling his head and giving Muir the same smug smile before he went back to working on his documents.

Part 1

From Dust to Ashes: @honeycollectswhump @writereleaserepeat @tragedyinblue @hyrules-sleepiest-knight @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @thecyrulik @gt-daboss @currentlyinthesprial @pigeonwhumps @not-a-space-alien

Let me know if you want to be put on or taken off the tag list

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1235

Submitted by Anon - thanks!

A prompt about a lovely day out that ends with a fight. One of em' walks away and ends up stepping' on glass {I looked over your pinned so I'm assuming this is pertaining to your specialty.}

I suppose it is! I'll add:

The injury brings the characters closer together after the fact.

^ I guess guilt is a powerful motivator for reconciliation.

The character could try to hide it, but a shards of debris get stuck in their foot causing infection. This could get very dangerous for your whumpee.

"I'm fine!" They say, hobbling away and leaving bloody footprints.

Do they try and fish out the glass themselves? Or does the friend have to put aside their argument to help?

Does the whumpee try to hide the injury as much as possible? Does someone walk in on them changing bandages?

Do they have a noticeable limp as they try and go about their day as normal?

[bisayawa]

me n bruce wayne WHEN

[youngpettyqueen]

“Sorry BJ” and “Yet ANOTHER sickfic”?

(Also, prompts incoming. Would’ve sent them before now, but—*gestures at the cold kicking my ass and groans* Tested, and it’s not Covid, so I’m not worried about that at least.)

—No GFA Anon

Anon I can’t remember if you were around for this but I had Covid back in March so I’m very very glad you don’t have that

“Sorry BJ”

So this one is me combining two prompts from you actually cause they’ll work well together. I really don’t have a lot for this besides knowing I’m gonna fuck BJ up pretty bad, hence that being the working title. Man is not getting out of this one unscathed

BUT he’ll have Hawkeye, who will be right there the entire time and afterwards, so really it’s fine. It’s all gonna be good

“Yet ANOTHER sickfic”

Houlihawk sickfic and that’s all I’ve got so far. I was thinking of having it be Margaret’s got a cold and period double whammy. Nothing but pure fluff to be seen here, but it’s still very underdeveloped as you can tell

[heartofstanding]

just checked the word doc which has my draft of the shrewsbury wound-john bradmore sequence, thinking it was around 10k long. it's actually 19,242 words long. double what i thought it was. holy crap.

[milo-is-rambling]

Guys am I allowed to say this.

[a-shade-of-blue]

Hi everyone. Mohammed Khalil (@ahmed0khalil) has asked me to share his story, and I’m writing on his behalf. Mohammed created the donation campaign for his little brother 6-year-old Ahmed, and he aims to raise funds to evacuate his family of 8. You can see in his blog how much he loves and worries for 6-year-old Ahmed. Mohammed is only 19 years old. This is not normal. He should have been in school, not begging for our attention to try and raise enough funds so that they can buy food, water, medicine, and a chance to evacuate to safety.

In Gaza, where the sounds of bombing blend with the cries of children, Mohammed and Ahmed's family experienced days they never imagined they would endure. Mohammed (19) and Ahmed (6) have four other siblings: Fathi, Aya, Anas and Abdullah. Aya (21) is a uni nursing student and Anas (15) is also a school student. Neither of them can study anymore with the current genocide. This war is especially hard on Fathi (23), who is blind and suffering from coronary artery disease, Abdullah (11) who is autistic and does not understand what is happening, and Ahmed (6), a small child who had barely started kindergarten before his education came to a halt.

The destruction that struck the area left them with no place to live. The sounds of explosions fill the horizon, and the homes that once sheltered them have become piles of rubble. They suddenly found themselves outside their home, homeless.

The bombing not only destroyed their home, but also severely injured Mohammed. Mohammed was sitting at the entrance of the school his family was sheltering in when three bombs were dropped in front of him. The bombs destroyed a residential tower in front of Mohammed. Dust filled the air and the resulting rubble and shrapnel fell on Mohammed, injuring him in the leg. Mohammed was so severely wounded that he could not walk, and he had to lie there, hurt and bleeding, for 2 hours before the Palestinian Red Crescent came and carried him to the hospital.

The bombing shattered the glass in the school Mohammed and his family was staying at, but thankfully the children sustained no serious injuries. Soon after, they were asked to evacuate the school immediately as there were news that the IOF were going to bomb the Abbas prison near it. And so even though Mohammed was wounded, he could not rest and wait for his leg to heal, but had to leave again with his family.

Now they are living in a small tent in a refugee camp. Mohammed told me that they had to bathe in polluted water and the place smelled of sewage and corpses. Camp life was difficult not only because of the scarcity of food, the infectious disease, and the polluted water, but also because of the psychological torture they endure. Looking at all the devastation, and how the world seems indifferent to their suffering, Mohammed told me that they, including young innocent 6-year-old Ahmed, had begun to lose hope for a better future.

Internet is unstable and often lacking in the refugee camp. Mohammed is using the precious time when Internet is available to tell me his story. I hope you will not turn away their calls for help. They urgently need donations to provide for shelter, food, and medicine, as well as to evacuate out of Gaza. Donations are coming in really slowly for Mohammed’s campaign, and I beg all of you, please, don't turn a blind eye to his story. 

Mohammed’s campaign has been shared by 90-ghost and I’ve also been talking extensively with him. He is a very nice person and he just really wants to help his family survive. Please, please, help Mohammed evacuate himself, his 5 siblings and his parents! Little 6-year-old Ahmed does not deserve to live in fear of falling bombs every day, and neither does Mohammed and the rest of his family. 

Really low funds! Only €1,185 raised of €50,000 target!!

Please share/reblog and donate to help a family of 8! These are children we are talking about, and my heart breaks for what they have to endure.

Please follow Mohammed and Ahmed on @ahmed0khalil to get updates on their situation!

[whumpypepsigal]

Blood & Gold (2023): “It can start bleeding again at any time. You need to rest for now.”

[oday-akram]

Don't ignore my story please 🍉🇵🇸

On a gray day, our neighbors' house was destroyed and none of them were left alive. The walls of our house were demolished and the house was covered in shrapnel. My brothers sustained minor injuries, but God saved them after that.

This is a picture of the house before and after the bombing.

Only the olive tree remains

O merciful heart, I am optimistic about you and that you will help me and my family

Don't make me lose hope in life

@bixlasagna @gaza-evacuation-funds @amvs @90-ghost @el-shab-hussein @wellwaterhysteria

[stuckinapril]

Is it “minors,” AP? Not children? Not 7 year old Hind begging the operator on the phone to take her away from the corpses of her siblings, shot to bloody pieces in front of her? Not the little boy caught on camera saying he’s at least grateful he didn’t get martyred while bleeding from a severe leg injury? Not the two little girls dead because shrapnel fell on the encampments in Rafah from Israeli bombings and fucking killed them in front of their parents? We’re calling the little kids Israel forces murdered in cold blood minors now?