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#whump!john
topsyturvy-turtely · 1 year
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Let Me Fix You (Johnlock OS)
for the one and only @safedistancefrombeingsmart <3
“Fuck! I mean- shite! Oh, bloody hell!” John watched as that asshole run away, clutching the knife wound he had left on him. “Jesus Christ. I hate you.”
“John! Why are you- Did you get hurt?”, Sherlock came running towards him.
“No, I am cursing because it is fucking funny. Of course, I am hurt, you bloody-“, John bit his tongue. “He barely missed my scar.”, he added, more quietly.
There was actual concern shining in Sherlock’s eyes. “How bad is it? Let me loo-“
“I am fine!”, John turned his body away in a quick movement. It hurt. He gritted his teeth and pushed air out through them. It made a funny noise, almost like a whistle. “Let’s just get home.” John already walked back out on the brighter lit main street.
“Don’t you think we should call a doctor-“
“I am a fucking doctor!”
“But John-“
“I am goddamn fine fucking enough, okay. Now just do your-”, John let go of his wound to wave vaguely with his good arm in the air. “Thing and get us a bloody cab.” John talked- yelled too loudly, too aggressively. But he didn’t care right now. He was pretty sure he wasn’t even cut that badly. But he was pissed as hell and the asshole stabbing him got away and there was no one else around to yell at. So his flatmate would just have to endure it. John had gone through worse with him.
When Sherlock stared a bit too long at him, John grunted. Immediately Sherlock moved to get them a cab.
(keep reading = link to ao3 and funfacts)
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title: Let Me Fix You
fandom: Sherlock (TV)
words: 1,932
summary: John gets injured during a case. He is pissed as hell. And determined he will stitch himself up. It's not his fault he forgot that Sherlock actually cares about him.
additional tags:
Whump, John Whump, John Watson Whump, POV Third Person, Hurt John Watson, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, and takes care of him, Angry John Watson, Worried Sherlock, Angst, okay probably not actually angst lol, Hurt/Comfort, maybe?, bro idk, doctors are the worst patients, John is a living example for that, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, I take no responsibility for medical accuarcy, You Have Been Warned, DO NOT COPY TO ANOTHER SITE OR APP, Light Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones
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tagging list (tell me if you wanna be added or removed💚) @catlock-holmes @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @pansherlock @the-smol-bean-libby-blog @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @captaincrucnh @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @quickslvxr @macgyvershe @myladylyssa @johnlock2708 @battledress @a-victorian-girl @dreamerofthemeadow @oetkb12 @ohnoesnotagain @mutedsilence @muddboi
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journen · 6 months
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Did this for the GhostSoap server exchange, my recipient was @/bee_flat_major on Twitter. :)
Here's an injured Simon protecting an injured Soap on a mission gone wrong. 🥺 And I plan to at least do a follow up piece of Soap getting him outta there...
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kinghazycrazies · 1 year
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Something about this conversation after Soap tries to aim with his wounded arm… Someone hold me I’m about to pass out
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whumpypepsigal · 2 months
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…… for science ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
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erinmccomics · 3 months
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Can't believe I'm Call of Duty posting but I don't get to pick the rot my brain gets infected with.
Most recent to oldest CoD doodles, including two of my favorite operators in the phone game, Roland and Iskra.
And a lot of Soap. Literally had to blow the dust off my drawing tablet but the brain rot was stronger than the burnout.
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aceofwhump · 3 months
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Torchwood 1x13 "End of Days"
The team's relief at seeing Jack alive after he was dead for several days.
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Ghost getting sick, delirious with fever, and begging Johnny not to leave him. At first Soap thinks he's just asking him to stay to take care of him, but as Ghost slips further away from lucidity he's nearly crying and begging until Soap realizes he's actually pleading with him not to leave him for good, the feverish state acting as almost a truth serum for his hidden fears.
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jewels-writes · 6 months
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Call of Duty - Fatal Injury Scenarios
Warnings: There is character death in all of these. You, the reader, are fatally injured. In Keegan's, there are themes of drug overdose, I know some people can be considerably sensitive to that. Please consider this your warning. Do not read further if you feel you may be triggered by these topics. Included Characters: Ghost, Price, Keegan, König Word Count: 1.9k Notes: This is very lightly proofread, apologies for inconsistencies or typos/grammatical errors. As always, requests are open. — — — —
Ghost (gunshot):
You and Ghost were paired up for a mission, per usual. You had to clear a building, you took the upstairs, Ghost took the ground floor. You heard the occasional pop of gunfire from downstairs, praying it was Ghost’s gun that was making the sounds.
Focusing on your own work, you cleared the upstairs rooms, being as thorough as possible. As you went through the rooms, you gunned down the enemy, not hesitating once. You were a soldier, you knew hesitating could mean life or death.
“Clear.” you relayed into your communications headset. Before you could turn your radio off, a door swung open at you, the enemy raising their gun and putting three rounds through your chest. Your vest normally would have stopped the bullets, but not this close. You made a gurgling noise before crumpling to the ground, your gun clattering out of your hand beside you.
“Report in, what’s going on up there?” Ghost demanded, making his way to the stairs, gun trained at the top of them. “Soldier, come in.” He ordered, but got nothing in response. He knew something was wrong. You didn’t respond, you couldn’t. Not when your lungs were turned to swiss cheese.
He saw the figure of a body on the ground and after seeing the uniform, he knew it was you. You looked dead.
“Fuckin’ hell..” He clenched his jaw and looking around, his gun raised, waiting for the enemy. He knew they were lurking around here somewhere. He heard a floorboard creek off to the right and burst the door down, shooting the enemy with deadly precision. He didn’t stop even after they’d fallen to the ground. He was furious, angry that the enemy had been able to touch you.
With the threat neutralized, Ghost moved to your side, kneeling beside you. His hands hovered over you, unsure how to fix your injury. His face contorted beneath his mask, realizing the bullets went through your vest and to your vitals. His eyes looked up to yours, looking for a sign of life.
Your labored breathing gave him hope. Hope that you were hanging on. 
“Can you hear me..?” His voice was low and careful, his eyes searching your confused expression. “You did good, soldier. You did good.” He could see you were losing your fight and his gloved hand came down to cup your cheek, his thumb rubbing your skin.
He was beside you as you took your last painful breath, his hand on your cheek. His heart seemed to stop with yours. He grieved in silence, never being a man of many words when it came to losing someone. Gently, he removed your dogtag, placing it next to his own.
“Until we meet again, soldier.” — — — —
Price (bombed):
After the mission, everyone was exhausted as they all squished into the transport truck. Price sat next to you, his hand resting on your thigh. It was a tough fight, and he knew you needed your rest. He guided your head to his shoulder, a normal routine between the two of you.
Just as your eyes began to close, there was an explosion in the distance.. It sounded like bombing. Then there was another one. And another. Getting louder. Getting closer.
“Price? What’s going on?” You asked, lifting your heard from his shoulder and looking around.
The next instant everything went black. The truck was targeted by an aircraft, the spraying of it’s missiles were the last thing you heard before you passed out. 
When you came to, it was to Price dragging you out of the wreck. The next thing you registered was the agonizing pain you were in. Everything hurt, everything burned. It was like you’d been used as a punching bag before being thrown into an oven.
“Shh, shh. You’re okay. You’re okay.” Price’s voice was in your ear as he pulled you away from the burning wreck, his fingers looped into your vest’s handles on the back. “Look at me, you’re okay.” He muttered with a grunt, pulling you away farther.
You tried to talk, tried to ask him what happened. But you couldn’t, didn’t quite know why. Reaching a hand up, you felt around your neck, feeling an uncomfortable pressure there. Your hand froze when you felt hot liquid.
“John-” You mouthed, a dreadful realization dawning on you. Hearing your struggle, his eyes met yours before flicking down to where your hand was probing at your neck. You saw his anguish in his expression, no matter how hard he tried to mask it.
“Oh, shit.” Was all he could manage. “Look at me, you’re gonna be fine. It looks worse than it is.” He lied through his teeth, kneeling beside you, one of his hands running through your hair, the other hovering over your neck. He knew you wouldn’t make it. The gash had gone through an artery. He could see the inside of your neck.
“Shh.. shh.. I’m here. Look at me.” He soothed you, placing both hands on either side of your face, looking you in your eyes. “You did good. You’re the best of the best.” He tried his best to not get choked up. He could see you were fading, the blood spilling from your neck onto the ground, staining the grass a brutal red.
He watched as the last remnants of life flickered out of your eyes, left open and unseeing. His face contorted as he registered that he watched your final breath. He reached a hand up to cover his mouth in despair.
“I’m sorry, my sunshine.” Price felt the tears running down his face as he retracted his other hand. Reaching for your dogtag, he clutched it in his fist, holding it to his chest. “I won’t forget you.” — — — —
Keegan (overdose):
“Sweetheart? I’m home!” Keegan called as he kicked off his shoes in the entryway to your shared home. Normally he’d hear you bounding down the stairs, eager to hug him after he’d been away after a long mission, tackling him near to the ground. It sent a pang of concern through his body when he heard nothing but the air conditioning unit in response. “Honey? Where are you?” He called out again, his body tense with gnawing dread. Something felt wrong.
Everything in the immediate area looked fine, but he couldn’t rule out a potential break in. Not when you were his lover. Not when you meant so much to him. His hand reached for his concealed pistol, unclipping the button that covered it, resting his hand on the body of it, ready to use it if necessary.
Remaining quiet, he searched the house, starting with the main areas. Living room, dining room, kitchen. All clear. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, it dawned on him that you could just be asleep. He jogged up the stairs, ignoring the soreness from deployment. 
The light was off in your shared room. It made him feel slightly relieved, realizing you were probably just asleep and that he’d been worked up over nothing.
Quietly turning the knob, he opened the door and let out a slow breath. There you were, sound asleep on his side of the bed, holding one of his hoodies he’d left you. 
“Christ. You’re asleep. Had me worried as hell.” He grumbled, taking his hand off his pistol and walking around to the side of the bed and switching the lamp on, hoping to slowly wake you up. As he retracted his hand from the bedside table, he froze, his eyes catching a pill bottle he hadn’t seen before he left for his mission. Was it new? Picking it up, he inspected the label. “Sleeping pills..? How many..” His voice trailed off as he looked back over to you, his eyes on your back, looking for breathing. For any movement.
“Sweetheart? Oh shit.” His voice gained volume as he shook your shoulder. Nothing. “Babe, wake up right fucking now.” His voice grew more concerned. Reaching for your wrist, he begged silently for a pulse, his stomach dropping when he didn’t feel one.
“No.. no please.” Keegan’s voice hitched as he pressed harder into your cold skin. It was no use. Your life had been taken hours before he arrived home. It was an accident, you were just trying to get some sleep, turning to pills to help your insomnia. You’d taken too many.
“Why..? Oh my god.. Sweetheart, please don’t do this to me. You were my everything..” — — — —
König (poison):
The mission was going smoothly, no issues yet. You and König worked together like a well-oiled machine, picking up the slack where the other lacked perfectly. As you and him reached the office, König motioned for you to go in, implying he’d stand guard as you grabbed the intel needed.
Nodding, you stepped inside, doing a quick sweep over the small office. There was no one inside, just a normal office space. Moving the the computer, you powered it on, hooking up your own laptop to break into the locks. As you worked, you felt on edge, like somethin was wrong. This was too easy. As you saw the file on the desktop, hidden under a false name, you faltered.
Cursing at yourself, you clicked on it anyway. The instant that you did, the room went dark, replaced by a flashing red that came with alarms sounding. König, who’d been standing just outside the door, immediately tried to help, his hand shaking the handle of the now locked door.
“Shit-! It’s a trap!” He called from the other side. “Are you okay? What’s going on in there?” He demanded, his voice high with concern. Looking around, you realized something. The room was filling with some kind of gas. 
Hurriedly, you stuffed your laptop back into your pack before rushing over to the door, putting your whole body weight against it. Your hand came up to cover your mouth as the gas reached your face. You realized it was some kind of toxin. And of course you didn’t have a gas mask. 
“Schatz! Get out of there!” König shouted from the other side, his fists connecting with the door. “Back up! I’m kicking the door in.” He ordered, hoping you’d get out of the way in time.
Stumbling back, you leaned heavily on the desk, the toxin affecting you. Your knees were weak, you felt your mind detach from your body. You couldn’t control it when your body slumped to the ground, your eyes rolling back.
As König delivered a devastating blow to the door, it flew off of it’s hinges, landing on the other side of the room. “Schatz! Nein.. nein.. Look at me.” He kneeled beside you, tapping your cheek. Cursing to himself, he put his arms under you, hoisting you up over his shoulder as he began to run out of the toxic office space. When you two were out of the building, he propped you up against the wall, his stomach flipping when your body was completely limp.
“Hey, hey, wake up.” He begged, shaking your shoulders as he squatted beside you. “Gott verdammt, look at me!” With a sickening realization, he saw you weren’t breathing. “Nein..” He muttered as it felt like his heart shattered in two.
“Schatz.. Come on.. Open your eyes.” He begged, cupping your face in his hands. It was useless, whatever you’d breathed in was toxic enough to kill you. 
“I’m so sorry.. I failed you..”
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aussiepineapple1st · 4 days
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Slowly Recovering
Ghost waits with Soap every second he can when not on an Op. he lets Soap listen to music, listen to movies and calls when Price and Gaz call to see how he’s coming along.
He massages his limbs and neck to keep the muscles from tightening up and moves them every day to keep his joints from ceasing.
Simon loves his Scottsman very much.
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ceruleanmindpalace · 7 months
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Inktober No. 10 - Cloudy
I know this has been painted uncountable times already (once by me, too) but have this defining moment of S4 again - this time way darker than the original shot, because… *mood*.
From @BluebellofBakerstreet's amazing promptlist for Inktober 2023
I am flattered if you reblog, but do NOT post my art on other sites/social media or use in any other way without my written permission.
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topsyturvy-turtely · 7 months
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SNEAK PEEK at chapter two of MISSING!
A/N: happy birthday @safedistancefrombeingsmart!! 🥳🥳🥳 originally wanted to finish chapter 2 of missing (which is based on smartin''s edit) for you but life is too busy for me lately. however i wanted to prove i am actually (kinda) working on chapter 2 surprise you a tiny bit so here is the shortened version of the beginning of chapter two!! i hope you enjoy it. guess i'm kinda glad to know you 😜😘 hope you are having a wonderful day!
please keep in mind, that this is a draft! "[…]" signals that this is a part that i am not yet publishing. the word document got about 2100w so, i am really not that bad at writing ch2! (if we ignore that i didn't even get to the important part yet…)
WARNING: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER ONE! read first chapter on ao3!
~~~
Even before Sherlock had left the hospital building, he called Lestrade. He started talking before Lestrade could start an unnecessary greeting phrase, “Tell me every little detail you know about this case. And I mean everything.”
“Sherlock?!”, Greg asked. “Where the heck are you?! One minute you were here looking at the-“
“Charing Cross Hospital. John is hurt. Badly. In fact, he is-“, Sherlock’s breath caught in his throat.
He exhaled, seeing John unconsciously laying in the hospital bed, the bloody arm- arm stump. It wasn’t the blood that bothered him so much. It was the bones, the veins, the tendons - everything that was supposed to be attached to John’s hand for god’s sake – that made him feel sick, angry, and terrified. What if John was never gonna have his hand back? Never be able to cook, read, tie his shoes again? Sherlock knew for a fact it would make John miserable, absolutely heartbreakingly miser-
He had to focus. Find the hand. To find the hand, he had to know more about the case. He finally finished his sentence. “John is missing a hand. The doctor said she can reattach it, but it has to be quick. Give me everything you know. I am not going into details.”
“Shit, Sherlock. That is horrible- holy shit. Are you sure you are okay searching-”
“Greg.”, the consulting detective’s voice was sharp, intolerant. He could not lose any more time. “This is not the time for compassion towards me. This is about John. Finding his hand is my first and foremost priority. Tell me everything about this case. Now.”
Lestrade finally seemed to overcome his temporary attack of compassion and started to lay out the case to Sherlock.
[…]
"That’s it! That’s their connection!”, Sherlock concluded after their conversation.
“You- That’s true. Thank you, Sherlo-“
The consulting detective hung up on him. He raised a hand to call a cab. He got one immediately. “Just over Hammersmith Bridge. Drive fast, I’ll double the fare.”
"In a hurry, mate?”
Sherlock glared at the cabbie through the rearview mirror. The cabbie’s smirk left his mouth, because he hurriedly shifted into first gear and drove away. He was fast but not as fast as Sherlock would have liked. Sherlock paid with a generous amount anyways. Thames Path, secluded somewhere between the trees. That’s where John was found. The nurse had given him coordinates and with his phone Sherlock found the place pretty quickly.
Branches were snapped, dirt was posched up, a pool of blood was in the middle of a clearing. Sherlock got close, knelt down, tried to find more clues.
Then he heard shouting, he looked up but his vision was blocked by darkness, a heavy smell stung his nose and then Sherlock hit the ground with his back.
~~~
A/N: i hope you don't mind me tagging a few more people? and i hope the people don't mind either xD it's just that most comments on ao3 were like "OMG CONTINUE ASAP!" so i thought... that would maybe nice of me to tag other people? even though i did yet another cliffhanger with this teaser... whoops.
tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed please 💚) @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @catlock-holmes @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @macgyvershe @myladylyssa @battledress @a-victorian-girl @dreamerofthemeadow @oetkb12 @ohnoesnotagain @mutedsilence @jawnscoffee @raenchaosandcozyadashofmurder @lisbeth-kk @quickslvxrr @compact-and-beautiful
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egophiliac · 1 year
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before episode 34: Kekera is the only fan of this godforsaken show who has a remotely healthy relationship with media.
after episode 34: frogman what have you done
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where-is-my-whump · 3 months
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Hudson and Rex 6x07
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whumpypepsigal · 2 months
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Halo s02e05: “We gotta get back. We gotta go… The survivors.… People on Reach, they need me.”
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letthewhumpbegin · 4 months
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Star Wars Episode IX: The Rise of Skywalker (2019)
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aceofwhump · 3 months
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Torchwood: Children of the Earth Day Four (3x04)
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