#whumperless whump event day 1: self-done stitches

[gauze-valley]

Whumperless Whump Event Day 1

Prompt: Emergency first aid, self done stitches

Finished my first post for @whumperless-whump-event's first prompt a liiittle late but I did it! This snippet is a precursor to. The only other thing I've written on this blog, which you can find here and here (in order!)

If u like the whole "caretaker has to care for themselves and suck it up so they can be there for people" trope, this might be for you!!

my stuff for this event probably won't be too polished, sorry about that! I'm just here to actually get myself to write :')

CW: Graphic description of self-suturing a wound, needles, graphic description of pain, laceration

[~1 and a half pages, 3rd person POV, OC/non-fandom]

If nothing else, at least the wound is only leaking. The stasis spell has held up surprisingly well, but the mirage-like waves in the magic aura around the wound tell Ira that he's made the right call in deciding it needs to be properly dealt with now, if the pain hadn't said as much already.

But he's exhausted. His limbs ache and there's a weight pulling on his body. He hasn't been off of his feet since early in the morning. A small reckless part of him says to recast the spell and lay down for a bit- what's the harm? He'll be closing this thing himself, and surely he could do it better with a little rest.

That'd be stupid, though. The overuse of healing magic is a risk for most already, let alone someone like Ira, whose mixed essentia halfway wants to reject every bit of holy magic that enters his body. He'll already be feeling the effects of this tomorrow, he's sure, and a second cast could put him entirely out of commission.

It's with a slow reluctance that he goes about cleaning the wound, sterilizing the area and wiping away the topmost layer of blood so he can actually see the edges More begins to seep out in response, but it's slow- the spell is still holding, and it's far more long than it is deep, so it seems safe to close. Unfortunately, the pain suppression is beginning to wear off, but that's all the more reason to get this over with.

Staring into the bathroom mirror, he tries to steel himself, conjure the motivation. He's done things like this before, in fact, he's done much worse procedures on himself than stitching a simple laceration, but his head is pounding and he just wants today to be over. Not that tomorrow will be any better. He's still needed- he won't be resting unless this gets much, much worse, and he intends not to let that happen.

Pushing the needle through the skin is easy. His hands are steady despite how worn and heavy they feel. They always are. Gritting his teeth through the pain, trying not to let the feeling of thread dragging through the punctures disrupt his focus, is much harder. Every sharp tug makes his skin crawl with disgust.

Ira resists the urge to rush it, because he's smarter than that and it's difficult enough to keep it neat considering the awkwardness of having to look down or look in the mirror for guidance, but fucking hell, every time this process is prolonged by having to clear away the blood again, he wants to scream.

Finally, he ties off the sutures, giving a relieved sigh that he immediately regrets as a dull pain shoots through his entire side. He carefully cleans the remaining blood once again and properly dresses the wound before throwing on a loose T-shirt. Now all he needs to do is clean up here before Six and Joy get back.

A ringing from the other room interrupts his thoughts. His phone. Muttering curses to himself, he walks over to snatch it off the bed and answers.

"Yes?"

"Chaplain Stepford, um, I'm sorry to bother you, but Chaplain Hart is busy and so is everyone else and-" Ira pinches the bridge of his nose. Of course, it's Clea. Can the acolytes not go an hour without his supervision?

"Is it urgent?" He interrupts, his tone short and exasperated.

"Not… exactly right now, but it could be. I think Lane's making a bad call about something and he won't listen to me."

"About what exactly? Spit it out." God, he knows he should be receptive to his students coming to him for help, but just once it'd be so nice if literally anyone else could deal with it.

"He wants to completely seal a wound, because he thinks-"

That's all he needs to hear. Lane should know better, but of course he doesn't. Of course he'd not only overestimate his own skill but completely disregard all warnings about only using drastic magic when it's completely necessary. "No. No, absolutely not. Tell him that if he does that without my approval, I'm releasing him from my mentorship."

"I already tried telling him that that'd probably happen. He said I'm just upset because we have different ideas. Can you come talk to him?"

"I'll be there in less than ten. Make it very clear to him that his ass is expelled from the program if I get there and that wound is mended shut. He's far from skilled enough to attempt that, I don't care how much he's read about it. If he insists on being a moron before I can get there, find another chaplain immediately."

"Okay, thank you-" Ira hangs up before Clea can finish. Really, he should probably thank her for bringing this to his attention, but all he can think about right now is how much worse the pain is getting, and how long it'll be before he can collapse into bed, and the utterly overwhelming thought of being on his feet all day again tomorrow, but this time with a fresh wound.

Forcing himself to struggle back into his robes feels like a monumental task. He doesn't even bother to take off his casual clothes first, he just wants to get this over with quickly and without bending his side, as much as he can avoid it.

He pops a couple of over-the-counter painkillers before he leaves, hoping that'll be enough for now.

[crash-bump-bring-the-whump]

Whumperless Whump Event - Day 1

Hehehehe this event looks so FUN, I had to join! Have something short and sweet, early on in Mariano and Bastian's relationship

TWs: Blood, needle mention, stitches

Self-done stitches / Alcohol as sanitizer / “It's just a scratch, I've had worse.”

"What do you mean you stitched yourself up and walked here?" Bastian's appalled expression all but pinned Mariano to the paper-covered chair he'd been eased down onto when he showed up, bloody and stumbling. He sheepishly looked at his own hands, slick with blackened blood as Bastian went to lock the tattoo shop doors and flip the sign to closed.

"Well, I'm not in a state to drive, and I always have my emergency suture kit on me--"

"You have an emergency suture kit on you, like casually?" Bastian didn't sound like this was terribly comforting for him to hear.

"...Yes." Mariano admitted. "It's nothing fancy, but the needle and surgical thread is sterile."

Bastian squinted at him, jaw soundlessly working like he was caught between a few possible responses. "...Why?" He settled on, grabbing the first aid kit he kept at the front desk and some wet wipes.

"In case I slip on the sidewalk at eleven at night and gouge my side open on some broken glass, like tonight."

Bastian scoffed, shaking his head as he sat next to Mariano. "I'm taking you to the hospital, you know." Scaled fingers supported Mariano's wrist as he started delicately wiping blood from Mariano's hands, frowning as he worked.

Mariano's chest warmed. He nodded. "That's a good idea." He'd never felt Bastian be so careful with how he touched him, and he almost liked it. "Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah." Bastian grumbled. "I'm just glad you came here instead of trying to drive yourself."

Mariano sighed as Bastian finished cleaning up his hands and started gathering up his things. He started to get to his feet, wincing as his side shouted what a bad idea that was. Before he could rise even a few inches off the crinkly paper, Bastian's hands were on him and he was being lifted up into the air.

"Bastian, what--"

"Shut up, you don't need to pop your shitty stitches. Just relax, we'll be at the hospital in twenty."

[waywardwizzard]

Simon leaned back against the wall, his arm stretched out in front of him.

Breathing harshly, he looked down at the stitches lining his arm and cursed quietly.

Blood sluggishly oozed out of the hastily closed wound. Some of the stitches had torn, the thread peeking out from the bloody mess the knife had left behind.

Flexing his other hand, the doctor slowly picked up the needle again, the thin metal glinting in the low lighting.

Blowing out a breath, he started stitching, biting on his lip to keep from screaming.

○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○

Author's note -

Guess who's back. Again. (I'm sorry).

I'm probably not going to finish this challenge but I really want to try and keep up my creative streak.

Wish me luck!

@whumperless-whump-event

[seth-whumps]

I MADE A WHUMP EVENT: get ready for July folks

welcome to the Whumperless Whump Event of July! for your sickfic, situational, and completely apersonal whump needs--comfort included, of course. follow @whumperless-whump-event for more information and details!

Image transcripts, tagging rules, and guidelines under the cut!

RULES

Any and all art types allowed (GIFs, drawings, music, writing, etc.)

No AI generated content allowed

OCs and Fandom works alike are welcome :)

Trigger and content tags required, even if the prompt explicitly requires the content (eg. Vomiting still needs the emetophobia tag)

NSFT and NSFW are allowed, if tagged appropriately. This blog will not reblog them, as minors do follow it. However, you're still free to write as you please :)

If enough interest is shown, I will make an Ao3 collection (edit: ao3 collection is made and can be found here)

Side note: please let me know if there's anything I can do to make this post or event more accessible. Should I put the image transcripts on the ID too? Is the formatting causing issues? What can I do?

This is not a contest, just an event. The only awards will be announcements for people who completed the whole darn thing. My entries will not receive any announcements or awards, because I'm hosting

TAGGING

Tag with, per example: #whumperless whump event day 1; #whumperless whump event; and (optional) #whumperless whump event day 1: alcohol as a sanitizer

Tag @whumperless-whump-event please! If not, I may not see it or be able to reblog it!

If desired, tag the medium you used

Trigger tag and content warn (including nsfw/nsft)

If posting early, tag with #wwe early entry. If posting late, tag with #wwe late entry. If posting just for fun, no need to tag these!

IMPORTANT:

There are NO OTHER RULES. Do one prompt! Do seven! Do 'em all! Repeat the same prompt six days in a row! Switch them around and do them all out of order! Post them eight months after the event is over! Finish the prompt list early! Write one long-ass story that deals with every prompt or do a one-sentence drabble for each one! Recommend your favorite scenes regarding the prompt! Write, draw, sing, play music, make playlists, do fic recs or show recs or episode recs or book recs, fucking crochet or something! FOLLOW THE VIBE. DO WHAT'S FUN.

Prompts (text):

Emergency First Aid: Self-done stitches / Alcohol as sanitizer / “It's just a scratch, I've had worse.”

Does your insurance cover this?: Car accident / Bystander caretaker / “Eyes open, ambulance is almost here.”

Like a record, baby: Vertigo / Struggling to stand / “Is the room spinning, or is it just me?”

It's every day bro: Chronic pain / Massage / “I'm used to it.”

Stealing my breath (give it back): Wheezing / Light-headed / “I'll count, you just breathe.”

Summer is a curse: Heat Stroke / Panting / “Why don't we… find some shade, quick?”

Accidental Cryotherapy: Falling through a frozen lake / Hypothermia / “Hey, c'mon, you gotta stay awake.”

Put your head on my shoulder: Migraine / Light & Sound Sensitivity / “I can close the curtains…”

White and red handkerchief: Coughing up blood / Can't speak / “You just can't shake that cough, can you?”

Your work is never finished: Forced to work while ill / Workplace emergency / “...sit down, I'm calling HR.”

A minor annoyance: Stuffy nose / Hate to be sick / “I'm fine, I can work.”

It's going down (I'm yelling timber): Building collapse / Trapped under rubble / “I can't move my legs.”

It's just a pebble: Avalanche / Stuck in the mountains / “Well, this wasn't how I thought the hiking trip would go.”

Lay down your sword: Fighting back a cold / Cuddling / “Just let yourself be sick so you can get better.”

I'm going down (you're yelling timber): Passing out / Exhaustion / “I've got you, let's sit down, I've got you.”

Say goodbye to filters: Half-conscious / Delirious / “You would never say that in your right mind…”

In hot water: Dangerously high fever / Cool baths / “We have to get that number down somehow.”

I don't see it: Hallucinations / Fever dreams / “It's just a nightmare. You're safe.”

The whump morning after: Tending to injuries / Domestic hurt comfort / “Let's check the bandages, okay?”

It's not fun if you're panicking: Stuck in an elevator / Claustrophobia / “Get me out.”

Where's the exit: Lost / Stuck in the wilderness / “Surely someone will notice we're gone.”

Better out than in: Nervous Stomach / Vomiting / “I got your hair, it's fine.”

Well, that doesn't taste right: Accidentally poisoned / Allergic reaction / “My tongue feels like bees, is that normal?”

Be one with the fish: Drowning / Rescue Breaths / “Why did you think that was a good idea?!”

We didn't start the fire: Severe burns / Running into flames / “I know it hurts. Breathe.”

That's no barn spider: Venomous bite / Arachnophobia / “You'll be okay, we can help.”

What's your name again?: Concussion / Temporary Amnesia / “I don't remember what happened to me.”

Nothing behind the eyes: Fully unconscious / Force feeding / “It's just me, go back to sleep.”

Wrong place, wrong time: Robbery / One of many hostages / “Stay behind me, I can take a hit.”

I don't mean to get emotional: Fear / Breaking point / “I can't stop crying, I'm sorry--”

Only way out is through: Tunnel collapse / Accidental Journey / “We can't just sit here and wait.”

ALTERNATES:

Seizure

Choking

Withdrawal

Mugged

Wild animal attack

Hangover

Strain/sprain

Broken bone

Bloody nose

Panic attack

[sparkchemy]

"Welcome home, Artemy."

Whumperless Whump Event Day 1 - Self-done stitches

When I first saw the prompt list for @whumperless-whump-event I knew it would be a perfect fit for Pathologic. Half of the prompts are already canon and the other half.. well. My mind is brewing with ideas, so get ready for (hopefully!) a month of Artemy and Daniil whump.

I'll try to keep most of it SFW but well... *points above* It's going to be a Mature rating for sure.

[accidentalcookies]

Whumperless Whump Event Day 1

self-done stitches / alcohol as sanitizer / "It's just a scratch, I've had worse."

tw: blood, but i think that kind of goes without saying, haha

caretaker: celestinus

whumpee: shaoyuan

no oc intro post yet because i am a chronic procrastinator, but someday i'll link it 😅 for some context, both celestinus and shaoyuan are part of a mafia/criminal underworld-type thing run by aristides, with celestinus as aristides' personal bodyguard and just general medic, and sy as aristides' assassin. this is relatively early on in their relationship, after celestinus has warmed to sy, but before it has been made clear to sy that the others actually care about him as a person. there's also a brief mention of some sort of technological enhancement that sy has, which i hope to elaborate on in future fics, but for now, you can essentially think of it as just your bog standard sci-fi enhanced human-type thing (strength, speed, healing factor, etc.)

enjoy!

---

The elevator doors slid open—and, catching sight of what was inside, Celestinus groaned.

“No,” he said. “No, you have got to be kidding me.”

Shaoyuan raised an eyebrow at him. “‘Hi, Shaoyuan,’” he deadpanned. “‘It’s nice to see you, Shaoyuan.’ I’ve been led to believe that that’s typical for greetings.”

Celestinus leveled him with an unamused stare. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

And just in case Shaoyuan didn’t get the gist, he pointedly swept his gaze down to his side, to where he had one hand pressed to a suspiciously dark patch on his clothing.

“No idea, actually,” he replied blandly. “Can I get through?”

The absolute gall of this man.

He reached in to take Shaoyuan’s arm—not the one that could have been holding in his internal organs, for all Celestinus knew.

But instead, his hand closed around air as Shaoyuan neatly sidestepped around him.

“Thanks,” he said, and turned to leave. “See you later.”

“Nope. We’re not playing this game.”

He dropped his bag and followed. In just a few words, Shaoyuan had already eaten up half the hallway with his lanky stride, and didn’t slow his pace as Celestinus caught up either, forcing him to do a sort of awkward half-jog just to stay at his side.

Shaoyuan didn’t turn. “What game?”

“The one where you swear up and down that you’re fine, and then I have to peel your sorry ass off the floor when you eat it.”

That had been a harrowing experience, loathe as Celestinus was to remember it. Aristides had only noticed because Shaoyuan, ever the most diligent member of this organization, had missed reporting in to him after his mission. When he’d gone searching, he found him flat on his face, bleeding out from a set of gunshot wounds—ones that normally would not have been a major problem, had his internal hardware not been compromised.

But it had been, and there was literally no one else left alive on the planet who knew how to un-compromise it, and so Celestinus had spent a long, stressful night playing “pin the tail on the donkey”—if you substituted the donkey with Shaoyuan and the tail with life.

“That was extenuating circumstances,” said the donkey, surprising absolutely no one with his wildly understated description. “There was an EMP involved.”

“That wasn’t extenuating circumstances, practically everyone tries to hit you with one nowadays,” Celestinus countered. “And the consequences were very much real and very much inconvenient and I’ll be damned if I have to deal with it again. What happened?”

“...It’s just a scratch,” he replied. “I’ve had worse.”

“I’m sure that’s true, but that’s not what I asked.”

“Weren’t you about to do something for Aristides?” he asked. “Don’t stop on my account.”

Celestinus had been about to run an errand, true, but that was before something else took priority. Namely, corralling their resident idiot into letting him throw a first aid kit at him.

Preferably at his head. Patients were much more convenient to work with when they were unconscious.

“Really, beanpole?” he sighed.

Looked like he had no other choice. It was time for the big guns: appealing to Shaoyuan’s unwillingness to inconvenience others.

He looked back over his shoulder. “You dripped blood on the floor.”

“I know I didn’t,” Shaoyuan said.

Despite that, he still slowed to turn back, and in that moment of distraction, Celestinus’ hand shot out to yank Shaoyuan’s away from his side.

Things proceeded to devolve. Shaoyuan ducked to one side, then again as Celestinus lunged for him, then a third time as he lunged for him again, at which point Celestinus gave up, decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and jabbed him in the solar plexus.

As Shaoyuan wheezed and folded over, Celestinus pulled his hand away—and then  had to fight through the various layers of fancy clothing both he and Aristides preferred to find the bloodied skin below, yanking them into disarray.

Ever the joker, Shaoyuan croaked out, “Dinner first.”

“Ha hah, you’re so funny,” Celestinus deadpanned, staring down at a large gash that would most definitely need stitches. “This is not ‘just a scratch.'”

“It hasn’t breached the abdominal cavity,” he pointed out. “That’s a scratch.”

Celestinus sighed and let it go, knowing that trying to argue injury definitions with a man who thought breaching the abdominal cavity was a good indicator for when things were starting to become bad was a lost cause. “You’re coming with me.”

“Your errand–”

“Can wait. Keeping you from bleeding on the carpets is the priority.”

Shaoyuan looked pointedly at the ground. “I’m noticing a severe lack of carpets.”

“Oh, because bleeding on marble isn’t just as bad?” he asked sarcastically. “I’m helping whether or not you agree. All arguing’s gonna do is waste my time.”

He made direct eye contact with Shaoyuan and held it stubbornly, until finally the man relented and looked away.

“Fine,” he said.

Internally, Celestinus breathed a long sigh of relief. “Then come on,” he said.

---

tagging: @whumperless-whump-event

[imsorryithurts]

Whumperless Whump Day 1

@whumperless-whump-event

Hello, friends! This is my first entry for the Whumperless Whump Event. I don't have much experience with formatting text on tumblr, so I hope it'll be legible. I am also not an experienced writer, I just wrote down what comes to my mind! If anything is too out of place feel free to tell me (nicely!).

This is set up in my "generic space adventure" setting, if you want a primer on the characters, you can read it here: [link]

Thanks to Seth for setting this up, and without further ado, here's my story.

-x-

Emergency First Aid:

Self-done stitches / Alcohol as sanitizer / “It's just a scratch, I've had worse.

Content warnings: Falling from heights, bruises, lacerations, and stitches.

-x-

“I’m fine, I promise.” Matt took a deep breath, doing his best to keep his voice steady. “It's just a scratch. I’ve been worse.”

It wasn't exactly a lie. He was fine. He has had worse.

He had to admit, though, calling it a scratch was quite the understatement.

“I swear to fucking god, Matt,” Rex’s voice rang distantly through the comm. “If we get there and your leg is missing, I'm ripping out the other one myself!”

“We’ve got your coordinates already,” Roye’s voice came through the speaker much clearer, without much background noise. Matt had to laugh at the possibility that Rex wrestled the comm out of Roye's hand just to threaten him. “We're trying to figure out how to get to you, just don't move, right?”

Matt could tell by his tone that he was serious. Roye was using his “captain voice”. He would be here in seconds, if he could.

“Matt, do you hear me?”

“Yeah,” he picked up his comm with his uninjured arm. “Yeah, I hear you.” He hoped to god this sluggishness wasn't from blood loss.

“Call back if anything happens. We're coming.” There was the noise of a finished call.

Matt sighed and slumped back against the sandy rock formation he was sitting against. The same kind of rock that crumbled under his feet at the mount above, sending him rolling god knows how many meters away. He only didn't curse it because it was providing some much needed support at the moment, and he didn't want to risk losing it because he offended it.

He gathered up some motivation to take stock of his situation again. He took his cracked mask off. The team always made fun of him for wearing the O2 mask even in breathable planets, but it very likely saved him from a broken nose and a couple of mouthfuls of dirt. He set it aside along with his comm, breathing in the fresh, even if slightly too humid air.

He was sore all over, but that's to be expected. His left knee hurt particularly badly, along with his foot that was caught in a root on the way down. Nothing was at a weird angle and he could move his toes inside his boot, so probably nothing was broken. He couldn't tell what was going on with the foot, it hurt way too much to bend his knee in order to remove the boot, and even if he could reach it, the swelling had already settled in, making it hard to remove it on his own. So he settled for leaving the leg outstretched for now, to be given attention once he was back in the ship.

The “scratch”, on the other hand, needed attention now immediately.

Somewhere along the way his right forearm had snagged on something, that something ripping a gash almost from his wrist to his elbow. He had spent the last couple of minutes pushing against it with his jacket to stop the bleeding while trying to relate his situation to the rest of the team. Now that nobody was listening, he allowed himself to groan loudly as he peeled the fabric away from the wound.

Like he said, he’s had worse. Still, it was not pretty. He was lucky enough that the edges weren't too ragged, but it was still long and deep. It had stopped pouring out blood and now it oozed lazily, red filling the entirety of it like a lake.

Matt pressed his jacket against it again, pushing against the sides, trying to mop up some of the blood.

Not pretty might not be a good enough description. Squeezing some of the blood out of it exposed the angry edges around a pit of bright red muscle, lumps of nauseatingly yellow fat tissue clumped around it. 

He poured half of the water from his canteen over it. Blood loss or infection was going to kill him before dehydration anyways. He fished the first aid kit from his backpack, working as fast as he could, if he hesitated, the pain would take over his brain and he’d be scared to do anything so as to not aggravate it.

He held his breath and poured as much antiseptic as he could over his arm. Even if he had been trying to be quiet, he wouldn't have been able to hold back the scream he let out as the liquid touched his exposed flesh, white hot searing pain burning all the way to his bones.

He sat back with his arm outstretched to wait the worst of the pain away and catch his breath. Once he could take a full steady breath in, he retrieved the little suture kit.

It was a good thing he was the one to take that fall. Matt wasn't sure any of his colleagues would manage to properly clean and stitch a wound. Even with guidance over the comm, some of them could have the dexterity to do the stitches, but not the ability to keep calm until more help arrived.

It wasn't until Matt had the needle, thread and hemostat ready he realized that, actually, he had no idea how he would do this either.

His dominant hand was useless to work on this two handed job. He could probably use it to hold something, but there was no way to use it on its own arm.

He better not have a fucking concussion on top of all this.

He steadied his arm between his knees, trying to squeeze it in a way to push the edges of the wound as close together as possible. He was determined to make it up as he went along.

He couldn't get the hemostat to work on his left hand, so he threw it aside and held the needle with his fingers.

He expected the sting of the needle to feel like nothing compared to the agony of the gash, but it aggravated it in a way he had to consider just leaving it alone and take his chances against dying right there. He shakily pushed the needle through the other side of flesh after a couple of deep breaths.

He stared at the thread crossing his open skin. The obvious part was over, now he had to focus to remember all the steps. It was like doing his first stitches on a sponge all that time ago.

Right. Cross the thread. This was the twisty part, right? He missed having the hemostat.

Come on, learning to do something one handed was good, rewiring the brain, keeping it in shape.

He made two loops, moving the thread with his thumb and index, holding it with his pinkie. He pushed the needle through the loops, pulling it with his teeth and holding the loose side of thread, the edges of skin meeting where the stitch tractioned it. Matt let himself whimper at the feeling, both the surface of the skin and muscles protesting at the movement.

He repeated the loops to the other side, cursing when they slipped away from his fingers, but completing the knots of the stitch. 

He snipped the ends of thread, completing the suture. He sighed in relief and admired his work. But then he had to laugh. 

That was one stitch down. There remained… What, about 20?

His comm beeped to life beside him. Isabella's voice came from it. “Hey, Matt, how are you holding up?”

“Fine.” He sighed, forcing his voice not to shake. “My foot is still messed up, so I’m-I’m just sitting here.”

“We're going to leave you bored for a while. We found a path around the bushes, should take a little less than two hours to reach you,” She said, apologetic, but hopeful. “Roye says he’d keep you company if we weren't worried about about battery.”

“Ha, thanks.” He swallowed the lump in his throat, looking at how much he still had to suture, the wound slowly seeping blood into his pants. “I’ll just enjoy a nap, maybe.”

“Sleep well, Matt. We’ll wake you when we get there,” she signed off sweetly.

Matt laid back against the rock, looking at his injured arm. He sighed and forced himself upright. He wiped the blood around it as best as he could. The gash wasn't going to close itself.

He struggled with the next two stitches, but then he blanked out, and when he realized, half of it was already closed up.

It was not a good sign, but he was relieved it was almost done before he noticed.

His hands shook as he completed the next ones, and the needle slipped out of his fingers more than once, but he got there.

He pierced the skin one last time, looped the thread twice, pulled the needle through. Looped twice to the other side, pulled it through. Helping with his teeth. His vision was blurry and his mouth tasted like copper. But he did it.

He snipped the last of the thread, finally. 

He slumped back against the rock, realizing he had been holding his breath. He had to pour some more antiseptic over it, but he couldn't get his non injured arm to move. Needed to drink some water, maybe, but his limbs fell heavily at his sides.

Well, fuck. At least people were already coming. 

His vision started to grey out, and he allowed the fog to take over.

-

He woke up being half carried already.

“I FUCKING TOLD YOU HE WAS HIDING SOMETHING,” Rex shouted beside him. “WHAT DID I FUCKING SAY, I’LL RIP YOUR OTHER ARM APART, YOU IDIOT!”

Matt chuckled. He would have thought the same if the roles were reversed.

He felt his consciousness drifting again. He took advantage of the light hearted moment and the safety of the arms heaving him up, and let it go. He was fine now.

[autisticwriterblog]

Hiiii a little late but here are some Hunter prompts! Sorry it's a lot and I am absolutely not requesting you do all of these, just some ideas for you to pick and choose from if you like! :)

1 - self-done stitches: Hunter having to do his own stitches after Belos hurts him, because Belos won't let him see a healer as they might figure out Hunter's being abused. I headcanon Hunter first learned to sew clothes from doing his own stitches. Bonus points if the wound is on his back and he has to twist awkwardly in front of a mirror to try to see the wound well enough to stitch it up.

4 - massage: Hunter has chronic pain post-possession from all of the scars on his body. Someone he loves (your choice!) gives him a massage to help.

8 - migraine: Hunter gets a bad migraine one day when they're in the Human Realm. He tries really hard to get through the day without his friends finding out as he doesn't want to be a burden on them. Luz notices and asks him to come help her with planning for the portal, but once they're alone she just gets him to lie down and rest for a while.

10 - forced to work while ill: Hunter is suffering from a high fever, but Belos sends him on a mission, so he has to just try to get through it. He encounters Luz and Eda and attempts to be threatening/fight them, but he's extremely delirious. They decide to take him back to the Owl House to help him, despite his weak protests.

20 - get me out: When Hunter has his panic attack at the end of Hollow Mind, he tries to run out of the Owl House, but Eda has Hooty shut down the house before he can get out because he'll be safer there. His panic attack gets worse as he realizes he's trapped, and he tries frantically to find an exit, possibly even lashing out and attacking Eda or Hooty.

23 - allergic reaction: Camila is serving dinner when they're in the Human Realm, and when Hunter starts eating, his mouth stings so bad he wants to cry, but he looks at the rest of his friends and they don't seem to be in any pain, so he convinces himself he's just overly sensitive so he keeps eating. It's only when his skin starts breaking out and his breathing gets uneven that they realize something's wrong.

24- rescue breaths: When Hunter drowns in Thanks to Them, Camila and Luz take turns giving him CPR in an attempt to save him.

30 - breaking point: In For the Future, when Hunter starts tearing up at the picture of Flapjack and Willow and Gus leave the room, he doesn't run after them and instead collapses to his knees on the floor. He starts having a panic attack and Luz and Camila rush over to help him through it. He finally just breaks down crying over Flapjack, sobbing so much he can barely breathe, and they comfort him.

alternate prompt - seizure: Hunter develops epilepsy after drowning. Your choice if his first seizure is when he's alone and he has to suffer through not knowing what's happening to him or when it will be over, or if someone like Camila is there to comfort him.

I decided to pick the migraine prompt!

Rest a While Fandom: The Owl House (Cartoon) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Hunter | The Golden Guard & Luz Noceda Characters: Hunter | The Golden Guard (The Owl House), Luz Noceda Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Headaches & Migraines, During Timeskip in Episode: s03e01 Thanks to Them (The Owl House), The Human Realm (The Owl House), Hunter | The Golden Guard Needs a Hug (The Owl House), Protective Luz Noceda, Platonic Relationships, Friendship, Pain, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Caring, Whump, The Owl House Season 3, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, seth-whumps' Whumperless Whump Event July 2024, One Shot Summary: When Hunter has a migraine, he hides his pain from the others. But Luz notices and refuses to let him suffer in silence.

Written for @whumperless-whump-event day 8. Prompt: Put your head on my shoulder: Migraine / Light & Sound Sensitivity / “I can close the curtains…”

[kuralkara]

Whumperless Whump Event- Day 1

Emergency First Aid

Self Done Stitches/Alcohol as Sterilizer/"Tis but a scratch, I've had worse"

TW: Depictions of Injury, At-home First Aid, Descriptions of Blood

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

It didn’t hurt. Which might’ve been worse, in all honesty. You knew you were bleeding: you could feel the slow drip of blood over the already coagulated, hardening mess down your shoulder. Yet it was simply cold in the heat of the cabin.

You weren’t alone. You were never alone whenever you were hunting something like, well, that but your partner had vanished somewhere into the depths of the old wooden structure. The beast was dead and the two of you had done your job well.

The key difference between the new carcass smoldering in the pit outside and the one before it was that the new one had been faster. You’d dare say smarter, but that kind of talk tended to get a knife pointed at your nose. So you kept that observation to yourself. 

Stomping footsteps indicate your partners return. Never pleased about any mess in their cabin. Less pleased about the length of the hunt. You were still lucid enough to smell something sharp before something- “Watch it!” you yowled, back arching on reflex at the sudden sting.

Alcohol. Pure alcohol. If you had to guess, it was some kind of cheap vodka, or maybe everclear. Something super high in proof with nothing else within it. 

“Hold still,” was the curt, sharp response. A hand wrapped around your uninjured shoulder, not unkindly, to force you to sit back in a way that was easy for them. You bit your tongue, trying to breathe. Your body was not best pleased with its reminder of, why yes, there was flesh down that shoulder and shoulder blade, and yes, matter of fact, it was split open by claws larger than your windshield wipers. What fun for you and your flesh! “It’s not deep enough to warrant stitches, but it’s at a weird angle. I dunno if your body will be able to properly heal from this.”

“Ah, tis but a scratch,” you tried, waving it off. You felt blood drip more steadily down your back, and swallowed. “I’ve had worse.”

Alcohol was not the best way to sterilize it. It was an irritant. It reopened wounds and aggravated blood vessels in a way that could prevent proper scarring and healing. Words from an orientation so recent yet so distant echoed in your mind. 

You closed your eyes, taking a slow, deep breath. After a moment of holding it, you pushed all of the air out of your chest all at once. “None of the bones seem touched,” they managed. It took biting the entirety of your tongue to keep yourself from grimacing at that image. Was it really that deep? “It looks more like you were skinned back here.”

“I need you to shut the fuck up before I hurl.”

“Yeah that- that’s fair.”

Quiet. You did your best to breathe through the frigid yet smoldering sting, but to no avail. Your breathing hitched at every contact of the rag. Heart stammering uncomfortably in your ears whenever they needed to scrape the seeping wound.

You wondered- twice- if perhaps they were being rougher than normal in an attempt to keep you from talking, or maybe as some kind of punishment for a failure you couldn’t have prevented, or maybe they just couldn’t do it any other way. You didn’t know. It didn’t matter. The dusk would come again.

You needed to get back out there. No matter the cost.

[comfortlesshurt]

Smiling 'cause you're used to it (a house that's always haunted)

TWs: Mentions of alcohol use/abuse by a background character, not directly shown. Injury. Referenced child abuse not directly shown. Referenced self-harm and eating disorder that do not actually occur. Emeto/vomiting.

Some of these tags are for future chapters, so you won't see them come up in chapter 1. There's a spoiler dropdown with more explanation of TWs in the start note if you follow the link.

Summary:

The unexpected pain catches Keith off-guard, and rather than landing safely on the other side, he tumbles down the hill, instinctively bringing his arms up to guard his head. On the plus side, he’s made it down the hill in record time with no head injury, and he can no longer hear the footfalls trailing after him. …but he’s paid for that win with the gouges he can now confirm are thoroughly marring his right hand and the sting along most of his left forearm. After he pauses for a shaky breath and brings himself to look at it, he sees how fast it’s leaking blood, staining the dirt beneath him. It’s most definitely not a “slap a band-aid on it and move on” kind of wound.

Pseuds: occasionalvoltronfiction & sickficlurker

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Main character: Keith

Side character: Shiro (Chapters 2 through 4)

Relationship: Keith & Shiro (Chapters 2 through 4)

Timeline: Pre-series, shortly after Keith starts at the garrison

Challenges: (@whumperless-whump-event) Whumperless Whump 2024 Day 1: self-done stitches and alcohol as sanitizer (chapter 1), Day 10: forced to work while ill (chapter 2, slightly modified because this is school not work, but it's in the SPIRIT), and Day 16: half-conscious (chapter 3) & bingo board shared by @builder051: self-surgery (chapter 1).

[beautyconsumer]

Whumperless Whump Event Day 1

Two Stubborn Idiots sitting in a Bathtub-

Emergency First Aid: Self-done stitches / Alcohol as sanitizer / “It's just a scratch, I've had worse.”

@whumperless-whump-event A little late but first one is done! Also cross posted on AO3

Relationship: Jason Todd/Grant Wilson

Fandom: Batman, Batfam, Deathstroke (comics)

Content and TW: self-suturing a wound, needles, non-graphic violence, alcohol used as sanitizer, description of pain, implied sexual content, injury, medical inaccuracies, hurt/comfort, comic book logic, Lazarus pit side effects (only healing ones)

“It's just a scratch, I've had worse,” Grant says, “You're the one who's bleeding out,” he points out, eyeing the oozing wound from Jason’s side.

Jason huffs, presses harder on his side with his hand, the scent of metallic blood pungent on Grant's nose, it doesn't bring him the thrill of victory over someone else as it usually does. The absence of the feeling doesn't sit right with him, not enough to do something about it. Not then.

“Just bring me something to clean the wound,” Jason says, voice strangled among heavy pants. It sounds dangerously close to other occasions Grant has heard him making the same vulnerable, pitiful sounds. He ignores the automatic heat creeping up his spine to retrieve what's asked. Wrong time.

The safe house is pretty neglected, there's little equipment let alone medical supplies. Jason and he had been using the space and shitty bed in it for everything but sleeping.

Grant kicks himself a little for not worrying more about keeping the place stacked with vital things someone without a regenerative metagene would need. His tendency to look only after himself nagged him rarely.

Yet Jason had him experiencing emotions too intense and too fast for him to process.

When he looks at the medicine cabinet he realizes they don't have any disinfectant.

But they did have a half bottle of vodka they had drunk the day before.

Grant purses his lips but goes to the kitchen for the bottle.

Jason’s gaze looks hazy when Grant comes back to the bathroom. Jason prefers to bleed out in the bathtub despite the fact the place has been stained with blood beyond repair.

Grant hurries to him and palms his cheek lightly, Jason’s eyes are closed, his eyelashes are fluttering weakly. Grant curses before opening the bottle and pouring the content rapidly into his wound.

Jason startles into awareness, he yelps and trashes in the porcelain pool, Grant places his palm firmly on his chest to keep him from moving too much, else he worsens his injury and wastes the liquid he had halfway poured on him. Grant hushes him, in an attempt to calm him or ground him.

Jason’s pupils are shrinked into pinpricks. Bright teal rings staring back at him. Jason stills when he registers Grant, relaxes into the hold and limits himself into a hiss.

Grant hikes up his shirt to look closely at the wound, Jason is too weak to protest.

“You’re gonna need stitches,” Grant says.

Jason snorts, “Look who’s talking.”

Grant feels dark tendrils of annoyance reach at him mercilessly. Jason is the one who's the most vulnerable of the two. If Grant is vulnerable at all as Jason keeps implying.

There’s always a bigger fish, Grant knows that, a lesson sank deep into his very core; he just doesn't see what that has to do with who needs more medical attention than the other, Jason does, most of the time, despite Lazarus Pit liquid roaming in his blood; Bat arrogance and skill can do so much, but it’s like that never drills into his thick skull. Grant might have a deep slash from a sword on his chest, but his body had worked on swiftly joining his flesh closed the moment the blade had been separated from his skin.

Jason stubbornly meets his scowl, he is one stubborn bastard but so is Grant.

“You’re getting stitches first,” Grant says.

His first mistake was the way he said it. He is gonna face Jason’s defiance at his tone, but he can't help it, he hates when Jason gets like that, such a martyr when it was very much not needed.

‘Let me just fucking help you.’ Grant thinks.

“You first,” Jason says.

It's stupid, almost childish if it weren't for the fact that Grant knew he was dead serious. An option is holding Jason down while stitching his wound closed against his wishes, and while Grant had the deep need to have Jason just fucking listen to him for once and do as Grant asked, because he was doing this for his own damn good —he also knew his obstinacy didn't come from a bad place— the action would only worsen Jason’s wound.

Because despite the situation Jason would still fucking struggle.

“Fine,” Grant snaps, taking to leave toward the medical kit.

Grant hated stitches, it hurt, they ended up looking ugly, he hated to touch the result or even look at it.

“Let me do it,” Jason says, voice slurred, which only aggravated Grant more. He’s losing blood too quickly.

“Shut the fuck up, could you even hold the needle?”

Jason frowns but doesn't say or do much else, Grant doesn't think he exactly can.

Grant gets to work quickly, in his eyes this was useless and stupid and yet—

He takes the needle and inserts the thread quickly.

Then for the first time of the night Grant looks at his own wound; he was partially right, it had closed significantly, far from the deep slash he had felt white hot piercing in his flesh. From it still emerged thin rivulets of scarlet blood, dampening his suit from his torso to the front of his legs.

The annoyance flared to righteous anger, he could just look away and let the thing close itself while he took care of Jason but nooo, Jason had to be an asshole.

The first bite into his skin didn’t do much to calm his choler, but he did hiss at the incision, if he had ignored the wound he wouldn't feel it this intensely, Grant couldn't help but bitterly think. He kept going, quickly stitching the wound together firmly with rough pulls at the needle, irritation fueling his vicious rhythm.

His metagene didn't mitigate the pain any less.

Grant bites his lip to push through the pain, tastes the tiniest drop of blood and stops immediately, he didn’t like having uneven puffy lips.

Grant is panting slightly when he’s done and cuts the strand off.

He quickly looks at Jason then, the scowl on Grant’s expression vanishes when he looks at him. His skin too pale, his head lolled to the side, the rest of his body slack.

Grant feels shocked into motion, he gathers Jason in his arms to hold him close, he feels as lax as a doll, a terrible and bright contrast to the normal Jason who’s firm and strong and restless.

Grant hears his heart beat, focuses his hearing into it, his favorite sound in the world is diminished into a soft, weak thump. Grant massages Jason's chest without giving it much thought. His mind punishing with repeated thoughts on what he should have done to make this anything but this awful outcome. But that doesn't fucking matter, he needs that wound closed, he needs to stop overthinking this.

He deatatches himself from Jason to gather the supplies again, his hands are shaking unlike the time he did the stitches on himself; he finds out with trepidation.

He pulls the skin closed with far more precision and care than he did himself, each time he sinks the curved needle into Jason's swollen flesh he tries to keep himself together, telling himself that it is for his own good.

When the wound is finally closed, thin flashes of bright green thrum underneath the skin, Grant feels he can breathe normally.

He shudders out the deep intake of air full of tension he was holding.

Grant sets his forehead against Jason’s, he is thankfully not burning with fever as he feared.

Grant lets himself go lax against him then.

When Jason wakes up next Grant is gonna give him an earful for scaring him like this.

[oncemorewithwhump]

Summary: Reid gets hurt on a case and tries to stitch himself up. Good thing Morgan won't let him.

Rating: T

For the @whumperless-whump-event

Day 1: Emergency First Aid

self-done stitches / "it's just a scratch, i've had worse"

[soulless-angel25]

Whumperless Whump Event: Day 1 Prompt- Emergency First Aid: Self-done stitches / Alcohol as sanitizer / “It's just a scratch, I've had worse.” @seth-whumps

Fandom: Doctor Who Characters: River Song, Rory Williams

AO3 Link!

Rory is by River's side in an instant, eyes focused on the hole in her arm. His hands twitch, reaching for equipment and supplies he doesn't have on hand right now. And so carefully he takes her uninjured arm, "We're going back to the TARDIS right now to fix that up."

And River rolls her eyes, scoffing. "Oh don't be ridiculous Dad. It's a scratch, not the worst I've ever had. Doesn't even hurt!"

She's lying, he can see it in her eyes. She's regulating her breathing so that whatever slight movements she makes don't hurt as much. The way her body is moving to protect the injured spot. The slight haze in her eyes.

When did his daughter become so good of a liar, Rory wonders. Why did she have to be so used to pain? He isn't sure what words he should say so he allows his brain to auto-pilot for the moment, at least until they're in the TARDIS Medbay.

"You shouldn't have to be used to the pain. I was supposed to protect you from it. I was your dad and I couldn't protect you or Amy. So please, River- Melody. My Melody please let me take care of you."

He can hear her breath stutter for a moment, maybe it was cruel of him to say that but he can't care. Not when his daughter is hurt and says that this hole in her arm isn't the worse pain she's ever suffered. Not when she says that it doesn't hurt. He can't let her- he needs her to know she is loved.

[soapy-soartp]

Trying my hand at Whumperless Whump Event of July by @whumperless-whump-event

(Pls be nice this is my first writing event)

Day: 1- EMERGENCY FIRST AID

Prompt: Self-done stitches / Alcohol as sanitizer / "It's just a scratch, I've had worse." -> different meeting Hualian AU, by a twist of fate HC stumbles upon his recently injured and very disheveled god, he invites his god to his house, naturally Xie Lian accepts

Fandom: Heaven Official's Blessing, TGCF

Characters: Hua Cheng / Xie Lian

His highness collapsed. 

Hua Cheng has finally found him again and he collapses. The ghost rushes forward to stop him from further injuring himself. He hooks his beloved's arms above his own and slowly lowers them both to the ground, his highness’ back to his chest.

Never has Hua Cheng felt as worthless and unworthy as he does at this very moment. 

His highness is here! In his arms! How dare he lay a hand on him without asking. How dare he put his unworthy hands on his highness. He has no right to, he’s worthless. After all, why did it take him so long to find him? He should apologize-

His spiraling thoughts were cut off by a barely heard wince and the person in his arms shifting ever so slightly.

“Your hi- erm Daozhang? Are… are you alright?” He asks, concern clearly coloring his tone and face as he peers down at his god.

Stupid question of course not- if he was alright why would he collapse!

“Ahaha… I’m alright! It's just a scratch, I've had worse!” Was the response and his beloved turned a concerning shade of red.

“A scratch?- You’re hurt?! Your- Daozhang!! Please allow this humble one to help!” He pleads, beginning to panic in his own right looking over the man in his arms.

That's when he notices the other’s very disheveled and filthy appearance.

“Daozhang-“ The ghost starts, obviously distressed, but he was cut off by the man in his lap trying to get up on his own.

His god must have suffered and lived in squalor for who knows how long! The thought has the ghost’s heart heavy with grief and guilt.

“I'm fine! I'm fine! I patched myself up!” The man in tattered robes says as he shakily tries to stand, but he falls again with a low hiss.

The ghost swoops in to steady the other and he says earnestly, “If this Daozhang wouldn’t mind, it would still make this one feel better if you allowed him to check your injuries… I fear you may have reopened a wound or something got infected, so if you could?”

“Ah… No no! I couldn’t possibly trouble you, um?” The other insists, but it’s obvious he could definitely use the help.

“This Daozhang can call this humble one San Lang and it is no trouble at all!”

“San Lang…” After a moment of deliberation the fallen god nods and whispers an embarrassed, “Thank you”

He helps his highness settle on a relatively clean and flat rock and he motions for him to show his injury. The fallen god nods and pulls up his dirty and distressed robes to reveal a nasty looking cut on the inside of his calf. True to his word he did try to patch it up but…

The ghost king can’t help the grimace that appears on his face, he hates seeing his beloved, his god be hurt. He would’ve liked to be more subtle in his approach but there's no time for that when his god is suffering so.

“… That looks bad, this honorable Daozhang did a fair attempt at patching it up but I’m still concerned about infection and whether it’ll reopen again…” The ghost king explains then his hands twitches, “May this one touch…?”

His god nods, face still a light pink, and expression sheepish, “Ah, yes well I did use some wine to sanitize it before I started stitching? And please no need to be so formal, San Lang.”

“…Wine-“ A flicker of despair flits over the ghost's face before he smooths out his expression and looks up at his god, “Gege…? Would you allow this one to take you to his residence? It’d be much better for you to recover there.”

He can’t help but invite his god to come with him, after all with him in ghost city it would be much easier to ensure his well-being and happiness. And his beloved looks very much worse for wear, his white robes tattered and dirty, his cheeks and eyes a bit sunken, skin pale and obviously he’s had quite the experience while Hua Cheng wasn’t with him.

“I couldn’t possibly-“ His god begins but in a moment of bravery he earnestly interjects, nearly pleading with the other to let him whisk him away to a better life.

“Gege please… This one swears it would be more troublesome for me if I were to just let you go without providing proper aid!”

The god stares at this strange youth (who is suspiciously finely dressed for being so deep in this forest). He stares down at those earnest eyes that seem oh so familiar, and makes his decision.

“Alright San Lang, take me away?”

[seth-whumps]

Whumperless Whump Event Day 1

Self Done Stitches - Whumpee JJ - 232 words

--

“Give it to me,” Morrigan says.

Their hand is suddenly much closer than it was thirty seconds ago, and JJ has to fight the urge to flinch away. Journey does not flinch. He shakes his head. “It's just a scratch, I've had worse.”

Their face doesn't change from its smooth, unruffled expression, eyes too human to be anything but–except he knows what they are. “Journey, your hands are shaking. Stitches require steady fingers.”

“I've got it,” he says, shortly, and he knows he's being dismissive. But handing the deadly-murder-robot his only sharp object within the long stretch of road they're abandoned on seems like, frankly, a terrible idea. “If I didn't, I'd let you know.”

Morrigan doesn't quite sigh, but there's a release of tension in their shoulders, and they sit back on their heels in a bird-perch, nodding once. “Alright.”

It takes him longer than it should to stitch the slash in his arm, but he's used to pain. He's methodic. Lets the rhythm, the familiar patterns, guide his hand. Journey's done this a million times. It's no trouble.

The robot stops watching him halfway through, gazing over the road. It feels like privacy. A thin layer of trust in how they've exposed their back and shoulders.

JJ wraps the wound with a new fresh cloth torn from his sweatshirt, and settles in against the tree to wait and watch in quiet.

--

takes place only a few moments after their first meeting. they're not quite friendly yet lol