#infected wound

[jasmines-library]

Safehouse

WHUMPTOBER 23 DAY 13. Prompt: “infection.”

Fandom: Supernatural.

Summary: after sustaining an injury on a hunt, you and Dean are forced back to the safehouse, however the wound festers and becomes infected, leaving you very ill. With Cas MIA and without the proper equipment to treat the wound, you are left clinging onto life.

Warnings: infections, sepsis, cleaning wounds, pills (painkillers), cursing, blood, gore, stitches.

Word count: 2.1k

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

“Come on sweetheart. Not much further.”

Dean’s arm was slung around your waist, pressing tightly on the wound just above your hip. Although the bleeding had slowed town to a trickle, the blood still slipped between the gaps in his fingers. It had been caused by a rogue kitsune out in Minnesota, her claws had driven deep into your side when she managed to catch you off guard. It was a moment of weakness that made you cringe. The pain was blinding as the three long digits carved away into your flesh. You hadn’t even been aware that you were screaming from pain and collapsing to the floor until you realised that Dean’s face was above you, not next to you. His eyes were wide and he bit down on his bottom lip as he tore off his flannel and pressed it firmly to the cut, eliciting another cry of agony from you. He mumbled reassurances as you rose shakily to your feet. Supporting your weight, Dean rushed you towards the car. That was when everything started to go wrong. 

After easing you into the car, Dean whipped around to the driver's seat and shoved his key into the ignition. The engine rumbled before stuttering to a halt. Dean furrowed his brow, twisting the key into the ignition and pressing his foot on the gas. Again, the car refused to move.

“Come on, Baby.” He uttered, sparing you a sideways glance. 

Again, no result.

“Son of a bitch.” Dean slammed his hand down on the wheel hard, throwing his head back in frustration. The damn thing must have messed with the car. 

With no time to waste, he clambered back out of the car and wrapped his arm back around your waist to begin the trek to the safehouse. In normal circumstances, the walk would have only taken an hour at a stretch. It was one of Bobby’s that he used to use for hunting back in the day. That was, hunting before the supernatural. It was a cosy shack-up, large enough for all three of you to stay, but Sam had decided to stay back on this one. Dean mentally cursed himself for not forcing his brother along. He was always the more diligent one, much better at stitching people up. It was possible that with the extra backup, you might not have even gotten hurt in the first place. Though, Dean made a mental note to call him once you were situated to get him to come and collect the two of you asap. Though the drive was over 10 hours long, Dean knew that the chances of his brother reaching you were higher than the chances of getting the car fixed soon. Even with Cas MIA, Dean had tried praying to the angel, but he knew that it was almost hopeless. 

With your injury it had taken well over an hour to get within a mile of the house. You were slow trying to navigate your cumbersome body, forcing one foot to move before the next. Relying heavily on the tall man to support your weight, you trudged forwards, leaning heavily onto your side. Dean thought that had he not been there, you would have keeled right over and dropped to the leaf-strewn floor in the middle of the woods. It was then that your head dropped to your chest and your knees buckled, causing Dean to lose his footing. He cursed, stumbling to keep his grip on you. When he righted the both of you, he noticed the way that your eyes drooped so much that they were practically shut. 

“Sweetheart?” 

You barely registered his words through the ache in your side. “Mm?”

“You gotta stay with me. We’re so close.” He pleaded. “We’re so close.”

“Hurts.” You mumbled. 

Dean pushed up the hem of your torn shirt to take a look at the wound. His green eyes dilated at the sight. 

It was angry and red raw, oozing substances that he didn’t want to know. Infection was surely on its way. With a new sense of urgency, he lifted you into his arms and ran the last stretch to the cabin. 

Your head lolled against his chest as he reached the house and flung the door open. Your eyes were closed, but he could tell from the way your breaths hitched and how you stirred uncomfortably in his arms that you were still clinging onto consciousness. He placed you down tenderly on the couch before moving towards the bathroom and flinging open the cabinet. He breathed a sigh of relief when his hands grazed over the white medical box. 

Rushing back to you, he tipped the contents of the box on the floor, scattering the contents by his feet. Kneeling down beside you, he rummaged for a bottle of antiseptic or something to clean the wound with. When he picked up the bottle, it felt too light in his hands, but he unscrewed the cap and tried to tip the content onto the wound. A dismal drop fell from the cap. He flung it across the room. You furrowed your brow when you heard his footsteps retreat again, only to return moments later. Dean returned with a bowl full of soapy water and a rag. 

You grimaced at the contact of the cloth as he began to wipe away the blood and dirt from your skin. Your skin felt hot to the touch which only worried the man more. Once he was done cleaning, he tore open a gauze and bandage which he secured tightly around your body. He couldn’t stitch you up whilst infection was prominent. Then, he scrounged for something to help with your pain, unable to stand the way your face was scrunched tight. He slipped it between your lips and got you to force it down with a sip of water, half of which dribbled down your chin. 

~

Sam’s on his way. He's coming. Dean reminded himself. 

He had called Sam straight after you had fallen asleep. He told his brother that he would leave as soon as he could, but he was tied up with a small case. That was over 12 hours ago and in that short amount of time, you had gotten much, much worse.

A sheen of sweat had broken out across your brow, plastering loose hairs to your forehead. Your body trembled with violent shivers as you tried to cling to the small blanket that Dean had laid over your body. He kept a constant eye on the gashes above your hip. They had begun to clot, but were swollen and oozing. Dean could tell by the way that you groaned that your whole body ached too. He furrowed his brow, the infection was taking over and he was worried that without the proper equipment to treat it you would lose the battle. The bags around his eyes were dark and dragged down his face.

He hadn’t stopped once since you had gotten injured, spending his time rummaging through all of his cupboards for something. Anything. But he found nothing but a few cans of tinned soup and spam. When he wasn’t mindlessly searching or cleaning your wound, he was st by you clutching your hand. He sent many silent prayers to Cas, but the familiar flutter of wings were never to be heard. 

He studied you as you breathed hard, gazing off into nothingness with hooded eyes. Picking up the round bottle of pills, Dean tipped out a few into his hand. 

“Y/N?”

You rolled your head. 

“Come on sweetheart. Drink up.”

Slowly and with help from Dean, you took the small pills and forced them down. You'd barely finished drinking before he placed a heavy hand on your forehead. 

"The fever is too high," He said. You hear footsteps walking towards the kitchen door and then the door itself opening. Dean stepped out, leaving you in semi-darkness of the room where the light no longer flooded through the windows. You heard cluttering from the other side of the house before he returned once more. 

"I'm sorry, this may hurt." He placed a wet cloth on your forehead. The coolness of the water felt wonderful against your clammy skin, but it also sent a chill through your whole body. You shivered uncontrollably.

Dean bit his lip, watching you nervously. 

The room is uncomfortably hot. Your clothes were soaked with sweat and you couldn’t seem to catch your breath. You felt dizzy and nauseous, the room spun around you. Closing your eyes, you tried to try to relax and separate yourself from the pain. You breathed in and out slowly, counting to five on each inhale and exhale. But it seemed to make no difference. 

Your droopy eyes caught Dean’s from across the way and your heart leapt in your chest. He was dishevelled and torn. You open your mouth to speak, but all that came out was a feeble groan.

Dean tilted his head and smiled, a tired, sympathetic smile that could easily have been mistaken for a frown. He was blaming himself once again.  "I'm sorry sweetheart. I’m so so sorry…”

“Dean?” you whispered, letting the name roll off your tongue. It was really the first coherent thing you had said in the slow hours that dragged by. 

“Yeah sweetheart?”

“Stop it. Not your fault.” You told him, trying to be authoritative, for you knew the man too well, but your weak body wouldn’t give you the authority to order him around.

He gave you another tired smile. "Get some rest, Y/N,"

You closed your eyes and let yourself drift off.

~~

Your eyes flew open. You couldn’t say why, but you had a strong sense that you were being watched. You turned your head towards the door to see a figure silhouetted against the light from the doorway. He was tall and lumbering with hair that hug down by his shoulders.

You blinked and the figure vanished. You blinked again, and now the room was empty.

You lay there, listening to the sounds of the house. They were hard to make out in your barely coherent state, but if you focused hard enough, you could make out the heavy footsteps passing back and forth in the hallway, the distant murmur of voices, and the creak of old boards. There was a sudden warmth next to you as your shirt was peeled back, followed by the bandages the Dean had not long changed. You groaned at the contact of the fabric against your wound. 

A thin film of blood had already formed over the surface of the wound. At some point, most likey during your relentless shivering Dean suspected, you had torn the clot on the wound and it had begun to bleed again, leaving a trail of scarlet on the bandage. Since then the blood had congealed and begun to dry around the edges of the wound. The flow had slowed almost to a stop, but the bleeding continued accompanied by an oozing of nasty fluids from the infection. Dean gulped. This meant that not only was the infection a problem, but they had to deal with more blood loss. 

Sam felt a little sick from the sight and smell of the wound, he couldn’t begin to comprehend how it felt for you. He took a deep breath as he uncapped the bottle of antiseptic before pouring it onto the wound. 

Your body bucked and you let out a shrill cry of pain, eyes flying wide open. Dean gripped your hand so tight that his knuckles turned white. The disinfectant worked quickly, killing off much of the bacteria, and slowing the rate of blood loss. The redness around the wound brightened - a strong sign that it was working. For now, the blood loss seemed to have stopped, though the wound is still very serious.

Using the disinfectant to clean the needle, Sam worked his long fingers agilely to thread the needle. He then positioned it above the gash and plunged it into your skin. Despite how hard you tried not to let it, a scream tore itself from your lips. 

“I know sweetheart. We’re sorry. It’s almost done.”

Dean had to hold your writhing body down so that his brother could finish stitching you up. “You’re doing so well, Y/N. so well.”

When Sam finished the last stitch and cut the thread, your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you melted into the couch.

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<-DAY 12 ⛤ DAY 14 ->

🏷️ Taglist:

@senjoritanana

@deans-spinster-witch

@amaryllis23

#whumptober #whumptober23 #whumptober2023 #no.13 #infection #septic #infected wound #supernatural x reader #sam winchester x sister reader #Sam Winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x sister reader #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #Castiel Novak #spn #spn x reader #blood #gore #infected #hurt #comfort #no supplies #fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction

[squintingcats]

Whumpee doing manual labor in the summer heat for minimum wage because they really need the money. They have some infected cuts and wounds from previous work, and the fever is exacerbated by their exertion and exposure to heat.

They’re sweating buckets, red-faced and delirious, hauling a heavy load when their vision goes fuzzy and dark. The world spins and their stomach churns. They drop what they were carrying and stumble, collapsing on the ground in a panting, sweaty, uncomfortable heap.

They wake up in the shade, feet propped up on a tool box, their upper body on a towel. Their coworker is sponging off their face and neck with a damp towel, calling Whumpee’s name and lightly patting their face to rouse them. They notice Whumpee stir, and promptly tilt their head up, pressing a thermos of ice water to their lips.

“There you are, that’s it. Slowly, now. Take it easy.”

#overheating #heat stroke #heat stress #sunmer #summer whump #fever whump #sick whump #infected wound #fainting whump #whump #whumpblr #whump community #fever #hyperthermia #caretaking #overworked #exhaustion #sicknario #whump aesthetics

[elvencantation]

The Eagle (2011)

#wound #pus #infected wound #esca mac cunoval #esca #marcus flavius aquila #marcus aquila #the eagle 2011 #the eagle #eagle gifs #my gifs #channing tatum #jamie bell #marcus x esca #esca x marcus #escus #marcus/esca #esca/marcus #the eagle of the ninth #forgot i still had some clips of the eagle! #i have a compilation of my favorite escus moments saved on my hard drive #so i will... make that into a gifset at some point? #problem with compilation videos is that sometimes i need to color each one separately based on the lighting of the scene #this is why i dont often do compilation gifsets XD #elvengifs

[whumpshots]

Whumptober #13

Trope of the day: “I don’t feel so good.”

_

It's almost afternoon when whumpee finally manages to get out of bed and into the bathroom to wash themself and brush their teeth. They don't know what's happening to them, they normally are better after a few days, but this time their injury takes its time to heal.

Their body is shaky, skin sweaty and cold. Everything hurts like they have been hit by a train, dizziness clinging to them like they are old lovers.

Whumpee limps to their door, opening it to see caretaker look at them with concerned eyes. "You look like shit," they say rather matter-of-factly and already put an arm around them to lead them to the couch.

“I don’t feel so good,” whumpee grunts as they stumble into the living room with caretaker's help, who helps them sit down. Careful hands move their shirt to look at the wound and the bandages, then at whumpee. They know the look on the other's face and sigh.

"Infected?", they rasp, and get a nod in return.

#whumptober 2023 #whumptober2023 #whumptober #trope of the day #“I don’t feel so good.” #whumpee #injured whumpee #infected wound #dizzy whumpee #feverish whumpee #whump writing #whumpshots

[whump3000]

Bitten

Whumpee huddled in their corner, arm wrapped in bandages, nursing a bite wound.

They should have told Whumper. They really should. But they didn’t want to hear their stupid stuck up laugh. They’d find too much humor in Whumpee getting bitten by the rats they’d spent so long trying to befriend. And yet, maybe they would have been better off with Whumper’s amusement, rather than the sickening pain that had been spreading through their arm over the past couple days.

They wondered how much longer that had before the infection overtook their body. Already, they could feel the heat radiating up their arm, and the ache of sickness settled in their bones. Maybe they should just rip the bandage off and go tell Whumper, try and get some help. Already, they could hear the echo of their footsteps coming closer, a promise of their daily torment.

Slowly, Whumpee rose, the floor pitching and spinning as they did. Instinctively, they grabbed at the wall for support, nicking their wound as they did. Heat radiated up their arm and settled in their head, a bubbling frothy mess. They staggered forward, dimly aware of the clang of Whumper’s keys and the creaking of their door.

“Hands.”

Whumpee stuck them out, struggling to focus on Whumper, pitching and baying against the smudging edges of their world. Cold metal slid against their hand, and they felt Whumper’s fingers touch their arm. They murmured something about Whumpee’s bandage, not that they could hear as the floor pitched and the world suddenly went dark.

#whump #whumpee #whumper #infection #infected wound #whump thoughts #whump scenario #whump writing #whump blog

[fanfics4all]

Infected Wound

Request: Yes / No but thank you to @badthingshappenbingo​ for the bingo card! 

Requests are closed  <3 Have a nice day/night

Carl Grimes x Fem!Reader 

Word count: 1846

Warnings: Being stabbed, parents death, infection

Y/N: Your Name 

Prompt(s): 

A/N: I’ve been in some serious writers block, but this helped so so much! 

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(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

It’s been a few days since I escaped some psychos that attacked my family. I was the only one to make it out, not without some asshole stabbing me, but at least I’m alive. I was non-stop running through the woods and even though I was sure I lost them two day ago, I was still running. I hadn’t taken proper care of my wound, but I needed to make sure I was safe. Was I feeling a bit ill? Yes. Did I care right now when there’s assholes and dead people walking around? No. I just wanted to find a little abandoned cabin to camp out for a little while so I could heal and then maybe find something more permanent. I honestly just fingered if I pushed through I could ignore it for now. I heard some leaves crunch somewhere close by and looked around. When I turned back to the direction I was originally heading, there was a boy about my age holding a gun at me. 

“Who are you?” He asked. 

“I don’t want any trouble.” I said, holding one of my hands up and leaving the other on my semi-bleeding wound. He looked down at my other hand and his eyes widened. 

“What happened to you?” He asked. 

“S-some guys… they… they attacked me and my family…” I said feeling light headed. I gently pulled my hand away from my stomach and saw more blood then should be right now. I groaned and pushed my hand back into the wound. 

“I-I need to…” I trailed off as my vision went back and I fell to the ground. 

*Carl’s POV* 

I watched with wide eyes as the girl fell to the ground and her blood started spilling out of her stomach at a slow pace. I quickly put away my gun and rushed over to her. I gently pushed her onto her back and moved her hand that was slightly in the way of whatever wound was bleeding. My eyes widened even more as I saw the red streaks making their way from the open cut. It wasn’t that deep, but it hasn’t been properly taken care of. I gently touched her forehead and she felt really warm. I heard footsteps behind me and quickly looked to see my dad and Daryl. 

“What the hell do you got here, kid?” Daryl asked. 

“I found her running through the forest and when I stopped her she was covering this.” I said and pointed at her now slightly exposed stomach. 

“Why was she running?” Dad asked. 

“She said some guys attacked her family, then she passed out.” I answered. Daryl came over and looked at her wound. 

“It’s infected.” He said and I looked up at my Dad with pleading eyes. 

“We’ll take her back and when she wakes up we’ll see what the threat is.” He answered and I looked back at her, smiling slightly. Daryl picked her up and the three of us headed back to the rest of the small group we were out with. They explained what was going on with her as we headed home. 

When we got back Daryl, Dad, and I took her straight to Denise. Daryl laid her on the table and lifted her shirt away from the open wound. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her, I was worried. 

“She’s got an infected wound, not sure if she’s got anything else.” Daryl said and Denise looked down at the girl shocked. 

“I think she might have a fever too, she’s really warm.” I said and her eyes widened more. She felt her head and gasped slightly. 

“She definitely has an infection. I’ll need to clean and dress this quickly then when she wakes up I can deal with her fever.” She said as she got the supplies she needed. 

“We’ll leave you to it, come on Carl.” Dad said and placed his hand on my shoulder. 

“Uh, I was wondering if I could stay? I wanna make sure she’s alright and I can help Denise.” I said and Dad looked over at Denise. 

“If it’s alright with Denise.” He said. She looked over at us and nodded. 

“It’s fine with me, Carl would be a great pair of extra hands.” She said. Dad nodded and left with Daryl. I walked over to the girl and sat next to her. Denise came over with stuff to stitch her up. She lifted her shirt a bit more to reveal her stomach more and she gasped. I glanced up at her confused and she looked worried. 

“Carl, could you grab me some of the stronger disinfected? It’s worse than I thought…” She said. I nodded and quickly got her the disinfected she asked for. I walked over to her and my eyes widened when I saw the yellowish stuff that was in her wound. It was a lot bigger of a cut than I though it was. 

“Thanks Carl.” She said, taking the supplies from me. I watched as she poured the liquid onto a clean cloth and gently started cleaning her wound. 

“Is she gonna be alright?” I asked and Denise gave me a nervous smile. 

“She’s gonna be just fine, Carl.” She answered. 

Once Denise was finished cleaning the wound as best she could, she got ready to stitch her up. I sat next to the girl and just watched her face, she looked peaceful. Denise pushed the needle into her skin for the first time and I saw the girls face twitch slightly. Denise continued carefully stitching her up and the girl still twitched. I heard a groan of pain come from her and my eyes widened. Her eyes fluttered open and she moved to sit up, but I gently pushed her down. 

“What’s going on?” She groaned. 

“I need you to stay still please, just let me finish stitching you up.” Denise said. 

“Fuck that hurts!” She groaned and tried to move away from Denise. 

“Carl, can you hold her down? I’m almost finished.” She asked and I nodded. I stood up and gently held her down by her shoulders. 

“Just try and relax a little, she’s almost done, I promise.” I said and the girl looked into my eyes. She looked tired and I could tell she was weak from the infection. She nodded slightly and laid down as still as she could. I still held her down gently, just to be safe. Denise finished working on her stab wound and the girl laid down, looking exhausted.

“Alright, your wound is clean and all stitched up, it should heal perfectly fine.” Denise told the girl. 

“W-Why are you h-helping me?” She weakly asked. 

“You were attacked, we’re just trying to help you survive.” I answered. 

“Carl, will you check her temperature please?” Denise asked and I nodded. I placed my hand on her head to check if she was still warm and she leaned into my touch. She had a small smile as I gently touched her. 

“She’s still pretty warm.” I said. I pulled out the thermometer that was sitting near by and she looked up at me. 

“Can you open your mouth?” I asked. She opened and I placed the thermometer under her tongue. I watched the red bar get higher and higher. When it finally stopped I looked down with wide eyes. 

“Denise, she had a 101, almost 102 fever.” I said and Denise looked over with wide eyes. 

“She’ll need antibiotics…” She said and started looking through her cabinet of medicine. Denise walked over with a bottle and handed me two pills. 

“Try giving her these, I’ll need people to go on a run to get better antibiotics.” She said and left to find my Dad, I assume. I helped the girl sit up and handed her the pills with a glass of water. She took them and gave me a small smile. 

“Thanks.” She quietly said. 

“What’s your name?” I asked as I took a seat next to her. 

“Y/N.” She answered. 

“I’m Carl.” I said and she nodded. 

“You said you were attacked, were they following you?” I asked and she shrugged. 

“I don’t think so, I’ve been running from them for four days.” She answered. 

“Can I asked what happened?” I asked and she looked down at her hands. 

“It’s been me and my parents this whole time. Just us. One night we were sleeping in the woods since we were looking for a new place to stay. Dad was supposed to be keeping watch, but he ended up falling asleep. That’s when the group of men came and grabbed us. They held us for a few days, but I managed to escape. My Mom distracted them and that’s how I was able to escape. But, right when I was running away one of them caught me and stabbed me.” She answered and I felt bad for her. She lost her whole family and got stabbed all in the same day. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” I said and gently placed my hand on hers. She looked up at me and I gave her a reassuring smile. 

The door opened and we both looked up. Denise, Daryl, and Dad walked in and smiled at us. Denise came over and checked on her quickly. Dad walked behind me and placed a hand on my shoulder, while Daryl just lent against the wall. 

“Dad, this is Y/N. The men that attacked her weren’t following her.” I said and Dad nodded. 

“Do you have anyone lookin’ for you?” Dad asked and she shook her head. 

“My parents are dead…” She said quietly. 

“Do you remember who did this to ya?” Daryl asked and she nodded. 

“I don’t think I could ever forget.” She said and I gently squeezed her hand. 

“You’re more than welcome to stay here, Y/N.” Dad said and she looked shocked. 

“You’re just gonna trust me like that?” She asked and Dad smirked at her. 

“Is there a reason we shouldn’t?” He asked and she shrugged. 

“Maybe I’m lying.” She said and Dad chuckled. 

“I like her.” Daryl said with a smirk. 

“We’ll talk more once you get better. We’re gonna go see if we can find some medicine for you, you’ll be good as new in no time.” Dad said and she gave him a small smile. 

“T-Thank you.” She said and Dad gave her a small nod. 

“Carl, take care of her while we’re gone.” Daryl said and I nodded. She looked at me with a smile as they left. 

“You guys always take in strays?” She asked and I shook my head. 

“Just the ones we know we can trust.” I answered and she smiled. 

“I’ll do my best to not break it.” She said and I smiled. 

“I know you will, now get some rest.” I said and she nodded. I watched as she slowly closed her eyes and went back to sleep. Denise and I would be keeping our eyes on her the whole time. She will be safe.

Tag list: @les-bio-lie​ @tashy-bear​ @ashwarren32​ @hollie-blogs-blog1​ @schisbro87​ @lover-of-books-and-teas @nerdygaloresposts​ @teenwolfbitches28​ @genius2050​ @drw0301bieber​ @lady-of-lies​ @ravenmoore14​ @ravenempress101​ @cillianchamp​ @rowanthomasknapp​ @rachelxwayne​ @ready-4-fanfiction @dracoswhvre​

#bad things happen bingo #The Walking Dead #the walking dead imagine #carl grimes #carl grimes imagine #carl x reader #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x y/n #infected wound #fanfic #Carl grimes x you #carl grimes x fem!reader #carl x fem!reader

[whumpdaydreamerx]

Whumpee held captive in a cell and unconscious from the infected wound on their side. Whumper coming in and apathetically pouring alcohol/antiseptic on it. Whumpee screaming themselves awake, their body writhing from the agonizing pain.

OR

Whumpee slouched against a wall with a hand pressed to their wound, blood seeping through their fingers. Caretaker coming over with a rag, a bottle of antiseptic, and gauze. Apologizing to Whumpee but that it needs to be done. As the wound is disinfected, Whumpee throws their head back against the wall with a hoarse shout, losing consciousness as a single tear falls from beneath their lashes.

#whump #whumpee #whumper #whump scenario #whump scene #whump scenarios #whump prompts #pain #blood #bloodied hand #field medicine #injury treatment #caretaker #unconscious #captive whump #screaming #writhing #infection whump #infected wound #unconscious whumpee #my writing #whump community #I am alive #it’s been a while

[little-peril-stories]

Febuwhump Day 12 - Semi-Conscious

From The Prince of Thieves:

It’s not fine. I’m no doctor—farthest thing from one—but even I know this is bad. “You want to lie down?”

“No.” He leans back against the wall. It can’t be comfortable with the other wounds pressed against the stone, but he doesn’t complain.

“It’s going to hurt.”

“I know.”

He is quieter than I expect while I wash out the shoulder wound. No cries of pain. The first time I glance at his face, his eyes are squeezed tightly closed, his jaw set. The next time, his eyes are open, but his gaze is distant. I wonder if he’s even really feeling it.

“Are you still with me?” I ask, letting my lank, unwashed hair fall in front of my face as I wring out the cloth. He nods, but he says nothing, and I know he’s not. Not really.

Hatchett would want me to take advantage of this moment. Ask for Fox’s name, see if he gives it. I keep the question to myself. Baden Hatchett thinks he knows me. He fucking doesn’t. I’m selfish, but not in the way he thinks.

#febuwhump #lps the prince of thieves #semi-conscious #wound cleaning #painful wound cleaning #infection #infected wound #prison whump #whump #whump writing #febuwhump cheater

[thethistlegirlwrites]

You Only Live Twice

Emma tries not to look too closely at the deep gash in her forearm as she unwinds the bandage around it.

It’s nothing. She’s had worse.

She’s had worse enough times, as a hunter, to know when it’s getting infected.

It’s not bad enough for blood.

She washes it out, smears on the expired but probably still viable antiseptic cream, wraps a fresh bandage around it, then rifles through the clothes hanging from the exposed pipe that doubles as a sort of makeshift closet for a long-sleeved dress that isn’t one of the ones she’s worn the past three days. 

She’s not going to give anyone anything to talk about. She can’t afford to.

She’s only had this club eight months. Any sign of weakness, any misstep, could land her in the same position as its former owner.

So could the hunter who shows up less than half an hour after opening.

He stands out in the crowd, between the silver-laced bullwhip coiled on his hip, the massive knife sheath hanging from his belt, and the vivid crimson scars on his neck. She descends the stairs from the balcony where she’s been keeping an eye on the club business (she usually mingles more, but last night someone brushed against her arm, and she hissed, and despite being able to pass it off as being insulted at the lack of apology given on her own turf, she doesn’t want to make it a habit).

By the time she reaches the main floor, the hunter in question is sitting at the bar. He’s got a glass in front of him, but he’s not actually drinking it. A trick she’s seen him use a hundred times. Makes him a customer, so the owner can’t ask him to actually order something or leave, but he won’t get in trouble for drinking on the job.

“Stoker.”

“Heard you were moving up in the world. The industrial grunge vibe is kind of cutting-edge fashion for an upscale place. Missing that warehouse you used to party in already? Myself, I’d get some steer horns on the wall, a little space in the middle of the floor for some line dancing, and a couple vintage Eastwood western posters on the walls, but that’s just me.” 

“I didn’t ask for an interior decoration consultation.”

“You sure? I think “A Fistful of Dollars” would look perfect over that corner table.”

Coven rivalry heating up due to outside agitation. And at least one of the vamps at that table is an instigator. She has to admit, she wasn’t a fan of his classic western team bonding movie nights, but it did offer them a whole coded language to use in the field. 

Apparently, he still thinks they’re some sort of team.

But she’s on a coven borderline, and if someone ties the vamps stirring up trouble to her bar, she’ll have a lot more to worry about than a wound that won’t heal and being seen talking to a hunter. 

“I never was much of a fan of that movie. Out of town gunslingers shouldn’t be poking their noses in a town’s affairs.”

She’ll take care of the problem. Which she’s pretty sure Stoker knew would happen. He’s not appealing to a sense of justice the human Emma used to have. He’s appealing to her new nature’s self preservation instincts. 

He’s always been smarter than he looks. 

She moves to get up, but he catches her wrist, just below the bandage on her arm.

She bares her teeth.

“I’d like to see the upstairs too. Might have some pointers for that.”

There’s plenty up there for a hunter to object to. Private soundproofed rooms for parties. Emma’s put her foot down hard on any hosting happening here, and all her employees are people she trusts to do the same, but the simple fact that she left those rooms in this building could be cause for a conscientious hunter to run her in to the agency. 

“I can ask, or I can come back with justifiable cause. We’ve raided this place back when it was Corbin’s. He had host parties going on on the balcony level. Looks to me like you’ve still got doors closed up there.”

“I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“I think you do.”

He’s not looking at the doors.

He’s looking at her cheek.

Damn that tic. She chews the inside of her cheek when she’s in pain, and it makes a dimple-like divot. He’d learned a long time ago to recognize that for what it was, around the same time he benched her for a busted ankle she was insisting was a sprain. 

Apparently, some of her human habits carried over into this version.

“Fine. I’ll let you put your mind at ease so my customers don’t need to be subjected to a raid team over nothing.” She makes him go first up the stairs. No matter how much they used to trust each other, no one with a stake is getting behind her in her blind spot.

“I’m going to need to inspect each of these rooms for any residual blood,” John says, pulling a spectrum light from his pocket. Emma steps back from the glow. UV is unpleasant to be around at the best of times. It’s making her genuinely nauseous right now. 

Checking the smaller rooms, which she’s now using mostly as storage space, takes very little time. But the big room, the one she still actually does rent out to vamps who want a little more exclusivity than mingling on the first floor, is going to take a little longer.

John steps inside, then motions to her to join him and close the door.

She does, and the thumping bass from downstairs dies off. It’s nothing more than a heartbeat in here, a faint echo of the one she can hear from her former partner’s chest.

“Show me.”

“I don’t answer to you anymore.”

“I know that.”

She shakes her head but rolls up her sleeve. The bandage is starting to turn brown and yellow. 

“Some scumbag objected to being thrown out for harassing my bartender. I’ve had worse.”

“You’ve had worse as a human. Have you been hurt as a vampire before?”

“How do you think I got this place? That Corbin just walked away?”

“Heard about a raid on a blood bank two days before you took over. Whoever pulled it off got away clean. Took only one bag of the most common types, left anything rare and the universal donor.” He frowns. “Almost like they were minimizing the damage they did. Even left just enough evidence to point out the flaw in security where they got in, but not enough to be IDed.”

“I’ve heard you talk confessions out of people too many times, Stoker.”

“Not my point. My point is, you had blood. That’s why you healed. Your body isn’t going to put itself back together on its own anymore. You’re a dead woman walking, Em.” He looks at her arm. “Dead bodies don’t have an immune system. They decay.”

“So what is this? Tricking me into doing something you can run me in for? If you can prove I’m drinking human blood, it’s at best six months in your holding cells detoxing. No way I keep the club if I’m away from it that long.”

“No way you keep it if you go into a coma while some bacteria eats away at your corpse either.”

He’s got a point, as much as she hates it.

“I told you. I don’t drink human blood anymore.”

“And I don’t smoke anymore. But if an undercover calls for it, I’m gonna light up a cigarette.”

“That’s different.”

“Maintaining a cover keeps me alive. Drinking a little genuine blood is going to do the same for you. If you don’t, I guarantee you, within a day or two you won’t be able to get out of your coffin. Infections spread a lot faster in a body that can’t fight them.”

She’d seen the burgundy streaks running up and down her arm away from the wound, as much as she’d tried to ignore them.

“Thanks for the advice. You’ve given it. Now get the hell out of my club.”

“You’re stubborn enough not to take it.” Stoker reaches for his knife. She tenses, until he shrugs the shoulder of his leather jacket down his other arm and then makes a neat slice along the inside of his forearm.

Blood wells up, bright, tangy, tempting. Overpowering.

“Well, you better do something, or this is going to get all over the floor and my spectrum light is gonna turn it into a Christmas tree.”

“Blackmailer.”

“Mule-headed idiot.”

She missed that insult.

She dives forward and catches the first falling drop of blood in her palm a fraction of a second before it hits the ground.

She keeps her hands cupped below his arm as she cleans up the overflow of blood, but in moments it’s a manageable trickle. She can feel her arm putting itself back together, an agonizing ache somewhere between being burned and having glass shards pulled out of her skin one at a time, but she can also feel her body forcing out the infection.

She hadn’t realized how awful she was feeling until she isn’t anymore.

A hand holding a white sterile compress slips between her tongue and his skin, and she almost snarls and bites down on it, but she forces herself back with all her re-acquired strength. 

She’s left enough indelible marks on Stoker’s skin.

“That should hold you. You’ll get a delivery tomorrow night. A little congratulations on the new place gift from an old friend. Make sure to chill it well, it’s best served that way.”

When they leave the room together, it looks like the whole club is holding the collective breath most of them no longer actually need to take. And when Stoker opens the door, then turns to yell back, “You got away with it this time, Cole, but someday, we’re going to nail you, mark my word,” before vanishing into the night, there’s a moment’s silence and then a collective cheer.

Emma descends the stairs with her accustomed grace, simply nodding at the congratulations on surviving her first surprise inspection by hunters.

“I have nothing to hide,” she says to those who ask what cleaning service she’s getting in.

It’s true until the next night, five minutes before opening, when an unmarked van parks at the back door and rings the delivery bell. 

Carlos has to call Emma back personally to sign for the damn thing. Someone sent it certified delivery.

She waits until the club opens and her staff are busy filling orders and watching the crowd before she opens it in the privacy of her personal office.

Inside is a cold-storage pack, and inside that are two bags of shelf-stabilized blood, stamped with the O- type marker and a string of ID numbers. 

SJ 79110806007.

Only John Stoker would have been issued a double-oh-seven ID number by sheer luck of the draw.

Next time he shows up, she’s going to have a poster of “You Only Live Twice” hanging over the end of the bar.

It’ll clash with the aesthetic a little, but the sentiment fits just fine.

(You can read this story and others from this universe on my WorldAnvil here!)

@catwingsathena @nade2308 @the-one-and-only-valkyrie @telltaleclerk @ettawritesnstudies  @writeouswriter

#febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday7 #suffering in silence #infected wound #lady whump #vampire whump #emma cole #john stoker

[turn-the-tables-on-them]

Darkness Falls chapter 2- Broken.

Warnings: Torture, sickness, fear, begging, whipping aftermath, torture aftermath, whumper turned whumpee, scared whumpee, Supervillain whumpee, infected wounds, graphic infection.

Taglist: @purple-heart-x @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @oddsconvert @whumpsday @interdimensional-chaos @mylifeisonthebookshelf @elrys-creates, @wolfeyedwitch @whumpwillow @pigeonwhumps

Joey wasn’t actually expecting to find any members of the Rogues when he entered the warehouse. He was expecting it to be empty, they usually were by the time he got there. Over the past eight months, only 5 members had been arrested. However, once he got in the main door, it became clear that it hadn’t been abandoned for long. Fresh cigarette smoke hung in the air, and there was mud on the floor that was still drying. He’d been close to catching the bastards.

It wasn’t Vigilante’s that Joey had a problem with, hell, he was one himself, it was their use of excessive violence to those they deemed to deserve it.

Plain torture, there was no other way to describe what was done to their victims. Even the worst criminals shouldn’t be tortured, in Joey’s opinion.

He came to another door, which proved to be locked. Joey sighed, taking a step back, and kicking it in.

Joey strode in, only to freeze up in shock as he registered the scene before him.

In the corner, restrained to the wall by a leather collar, was one of the most vicious people he’d ever had the misfortune to encounter.

“Slipknot?” Joey breathed, immediately wary of a trap, even as the other man flinched back. He was covered in blood and bruises, with several long gashes across his muscular chest. The sharp smell of vomit hung in the air.

Joey shook his head. It wasn’t a trap. Slipknot would never willingly put himself in a position that made him seem vulnerable, let alone… this.

Releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, Joey approached the younger man, who cowered back into the wall.

“N-no.” He whimpered. His glazed blue eyes widened in terror as Joey continued towards him. There wasn’t even a shadow of the arrogance that had always surrounded him.

“No, I can’t- please, I wasn’t, I-I didn’t- no, no please!” He cried, trying to scramble back as Joey stopped a few steps away.

He was shivering like a leaf in a hurricane.

“Please.” He moaned, his voice thick with terror, and hoarse from screaming. “Please, no more. I c-can’t… mercy, please, I’m s-sorry.”

“Hey.” Joey said, fighting to keep his voice calm for the younger man’s sake. He carefully reached out, and touched the supervillain’s shoulder, and he jerked back with a yelp that was gut-wrenchingly similar to that of a wounded dog.

“Please!” Slipknot whined, sweat beading across his forehead as Joey sighed. Even through his glove, he had felt the heat of the supervillain’s fever.

Noticing a haphazard bandage around Slipknot’s lower abdomen, Joey reached out to remove it.

Trembling, the younger man, God, he was more a boy, tried to turn away, revealing his back to Joey, who sucked in a shocked breath.

The lashes on Slipknot’s chest were nothing compared to the ones on his back, which was, not to put too fine a point on it, in tatters. 

Layer upon layer of wounds marked him from his shoulders to his hips.

Joey grimaced, unable to imagine the pain the boy must have been in. He slowly reached out to unhook the chain from the leather collar around Slipknot’s neck.

The supervillain sobbed, trying to pull away, choking slightly as the collar tightened around his throat.

When the chain fell away, Joey reached out to him, intending to remove the collar as well, only for Slipknot to shy away from him, his arms gave, and he collapsed onto his side with a weak cry.

Joey took a deep breath, and began to unwind the hardened bandages around Slipknot’s waist, which were crusted with blood and pus.

"N-no please..." Slipknot moaned, squirming fitfully on the dusty floor. Joey could never have imagined Slipknot begging like this.

“Hush, you’re going to make things worse if you keep squirming like that.” He said, keeping his voice low and calm.

The last of the bandage finally peeled itself away from the wound on the supervillain’s side, causing Slipknot to cry out.

Joey stared in horror at the hideously infected wound that had been concealed beneath the soiled bandages.

"Please." Slipknot whimpered. "Please, it hurts, make it stop, please, I-I won’t hurt anyone ever a-again... please." He begged, breaking into a sweat as he struggled to sit up.

“Lie still.” Joey murmured, pushing him back down, eliciting a terrified sob.

"Please... please d-don’t hurt me. I-I know you have every reason too, but please- I-I can’t." He pleaded. 

"Easy there bud, calm down."

Slipknot sniffled, trying to curl up. He made a small noise of pure terror when Joey grabbed his arm, pulling it across his shoulders.

“Easy, easy. I’m getting you out of here.” Joey murmured. Slipknot was both tall and quite muscular, but Joey was even bigger than him, and lifting him wasn’t too much of a problem.

Slipknot trembled in his hold, crying freely now. Joey couldn’t help but wince as he again felt how badly the poor thing was burning up.

Joey adjusted his hold on the younger man, and made his way out of the warehouse, and out to his car.

The drizzle had turned to a downpour, and Joey noted how Slipknot’s shivering worsened, his pity for the supervillain running even deeper.

Joey opened the back door of the car, and propped Slipknot up against the back seat. It was abundantly clear by now that Slipknot was too terrified to see reason, and Joey wasn’t going to risk him injuring himself further in panic.

He closed the door, and went to the trunk, grabbing the bed sheet he’d taken to keeping in the car for road-trips, back when he was still in medical school.

Returning to his feverish ward’s side, Joey draped the blanket across his shoulders, before wrapping it as tightly as he dared around his chest. He repeated the process as Slipknot wriggled and sobbed.

“N-no.” He moaned.

“I know, bud.” Joey replied softly, tucking the last fold in, effectively cocooning Slipknot, and restraining him, just like he had done with Nemesis the night he found her.

Slipknot’s chest heaved, sweat shining on his face and neck as he writhed helplessly against the walls of his cloth prison.

“Shadowdancer, please…” He begged, tears flowing freely from his terrified eyes.

“Easy bud, you’re safe now.” Joey told him, gently pressing the back of his hand against the fallen supervillain’s damp, scorching forehead. Slipknot sobbed, trying to pull away.

Joey gave him a sad look, closing the door, and going around to the driver’s seat.

“Wh-what are you going to do to me?” Slipknot whimpered.

“I’m taking you somewhere safe.” Joey said, smiling softly as he looked back at Slipknot. One glance confirmed that the supervillain didn’t believe him.

“Ple-please, I’m s-sorry.” The fever-stricken boy stammered. “I’ll be good. I- please… mercy… I can’t t-take it anymore.”

Joey just sighed, and turned the key in the ignition.

___________

Nemesis stretched out on the bed, grinning as she pressed play on the tv, before popping a sour gummy worm into her mouth.

She was just adjusting her pillow when she heard a car door slam. Nemesis glanced at the clock, which read 11:24.

Joey was back earlier than she’d been expecting.

“Nem, come open the door!” He shouted.

Nemesis frowned, putting aside her gummy worms, and pausing her movie.

Jogging down the stairs, she unlocked the door.

“Did you forget your key or some-” She cut off as Joey rushed inside, out of the rain, carrying with him a shivering mess who was weakly begging not to be hurt anymore.

Her lips parted in shock as she recognized said shivering, begging mess.

Slipknot.

The Supervillain’s skin was deathly pale, aside from his cheeks, which were flushed with fever.

He was shaking uncontrollably, moaning incoherent words of distress.

Nemesis shook herself, looking up at Joey.

“What. The. Hell?” She hissed.

“The Rogues got their hands on him.”

“And?”

“I need your help.”

“No.” Nemesis snapped.

“Nem-”

“No. He’s a monster.”

In Joey’s arms, Slipknot sobbed, trying to hide his face.

“He needs help.” Joey said softly.

“Okay, so take him to the hospital..”

“We both know why I can’t.”

Nemesis crossed her arms, looking at the floor.

“We do not condone torture, and we are not about to start.” Joey said firmly, heading upstairs.

Nemesis sighed. “So much for a quiet night.” She muttered, before trotting up the stairs after Joey, and following him into the master bedroom.

She stood beside Joey as he lay the barely-conscious menace down.

Slipknot whimpered, shifting weakly in the blanket-cocoon he was enveloped in, just like she had once been. He was soaked in sweat, and obviously delirious. Or, close to, at least.

He flinched as Joey began to unwrap the sheet.

Slipknot’s glassy blue eyes were half-lidded, but still full of terror. Nemesis glanced down at the four lashes across his chest, clicking her tongue in dismay,

He groaned in protest as Joey turned him onto his side, revealing the countless lashes that were ten times worse across his back.

Despite her bitterness, Nemesis couldn’t help the pity that welled up inside her.

“Ple-please...” He mumbled, his voice weak and raspy. “D-don’t...”

“Nemesis.” Joey said, and she tore her eyes away from the horrible wounds. “I need you to put aside the resentment for now. I need you to help me treat him.”

Nemesis hesitated for only a split second, then, with a sigh, she nodded.

“What do you need me to do?” She asked.

#torture #Slipknot #Nemesis #Joey #whump #supervillain x vigilante #Supervillain whumpee #whumper turned whumpee #fever #panic #begging #sick Supervillain #begging Supervillain #infected wound #infection whump

[littleperilstories]

The Prince of Thieves: How Could You Do This to Me?

Mood Boards | Chapter Titles | Also on A03!

Warnings: Fantasy-esque prison setting, restraints (shackles), infected wound, creepy villain, fucked up power dynamics, betrayal, guilt, fear, death wish, mention of family member death

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Word count: 1978 || Approx reading time: 8 mins

How Could You Do This to Me?

Teaser: “Fox,” I gasp, my palms stinging and my cheeks burning, “it’s me, it’s Bree—” “I fucking know.” He pushes me away a second time. “Don’t you fucking touch me.”

Bree

As we stand before Fox’s cell, Hatchett unlocks the manacles. His cold fingers brush against my skin, and the sensation makes my stomach turn. I pinch my lips together in a weak attempt to hide my revulsion.

“Think about what we discussed, Miss Cooper.” His hand closes around my wrist, preventing me from escaping him just yet, although he pulls open the cell door. I cannot meet his eyes, nor shrug from his touch, nor shield myself at all.

His gaze is like a gaunt, icy finger, trailing down my cheek in a motion both intimate and hideous, sending shivers down my spine. There’s no affection in his stare, nor any lust. It’s nothing more than a reminder—though the metal is gone from my wrists, I am still bound. A subtle nod to the fact that although I got what I wanted and should be revelling in my victory, I am still on the losing side of the war.

The amount of self-control it takes for me not to wrench my arm from his grip is positively cosmic.

Don’t fucking touch me, is what I want to say.

Instead, I remain still—trying desperately not to shiver—and wait for him to nudge me into the iron cage that will hold both Fox and me prisoner until Gysborne arrives to, hopefully, take care of Fox’s fever.

Hatchett, however, does not release me just yet. “Don’t you have something to say to me? Something you forgot?”

If I say the words he’s seeking, I will surely gag. But he doesn’t let go of my arm.

“Thank you, Constable Hatchett.”

He smirks, lets go, and when I am fully inside the cell, he slams the door shut.

Fox has fallen asleep or perhaps passed out in the time I’ve been gone. His body is limp, back slumped against the wall and legs stretched awkwardly over the filthy floor, his breathing laboured. With a grimace, I approach, unsure of what to expect. How much did he hear when I called for the constables to bring Hatchett so I could beg him for an audience? If he heard, how much does he remember? How betrayed does he feel? How angry?

Trapped too deeply in sleep, he doesn’t hear me draw near, and I let him rest. There is little I can do until someone brings clean water and cloth. How long I will be waiting, I cannot tell.

While I wait, I inspect him, the feverish man before me. From this distance and in the terrible light, it’s hard to see clearly whether his face is flushed or pale, or which wound might be inflamed and red with infection. Whether he sleeps with peace painted upon his features, or with fitful, restless pain. So long as he is unconscious, I cannot possibly tell how much strength remains in those fever-ridden limbs.

It is both too soon and not soon enough when someone brings a bucket of steaming water, a constable I don’t know. I don’t bother to thank him, but focus on Fox. Quietly, clearing my throat, I say his name—well, the only name I have for him.

He doesn’t stir.

“Fox.” I move closer. “It’s Bree. Can you wake up? I want to help you.”

He does not wake until I lay my hand on his arm. With a gasp, he jerks to wakefulness under my hands.

“Get the hell off me!”

He shoves me away with surprising force for someone who’s dying, and I have to regain my balance, bracing my hands against the floor.

“Fox,” I gasp, my palms stinging and my cheeks burning, “it’s me, it’s Bree—”

“I fucking know.” He pushes me away a second time. “Don’t you fucking touch me.”

If I don’t get a hold of my emotions quickly, I’m going to cry. I can feel the ache in my throat, threatening to overcome any words I might use to convince him to hear me out. “Please listen to me.”

“Listen?” he spits, struggling to support himself on a single shaking arm—still avoiding using the one with the shoulder wound. “I already fucking did. ‘I want to make a deal.’ How could you?”

His voice is furious, but it’s weak—broken and strained, like a branch snapped in a storm. Thready fibres are all that remain to stop it from splitting and crashing to the forest floor.

“And how d-dare—How dare you come back in here now? Shouldn’t you be out there h-helping him to find—”

Oh, I deserve his wrath, and I know it, but I’m not giving up. I can’t, not now. “Wait. Just—I—”

“What d-do you know? What did you t-tell him?”

“Please listen,” I repeat. “I swear, I swear, I’m only trying to help you.”

“Help me, how?” His words splutter out, stitched together and slurred. “You expect me to believe you? What did you s-say?”

I try to inch closer, but still he moves away. “You’re sick. I needed to get him to listen. So I bargained for…” How to even explain it? Real medical care? For the medic to do his damn job? A clean environment? Some basic human decency? “Medicine.”

“You told him...”

I pull in a sharp breath, unable to ignore the hitch in my chest and the tears smarting in my eyes. “I told him about how IA passes messages. Stuff about being a runner.”

Fever clouds his gaze, but suspicion spikes through, too. He doesn’t believe me. How could he possibly know there’s more? I thought for sure he didn’t remember telling me he has a brother.

“What else?”

“Nothing,” I say, the lie slipping out before I can really think it through. Please, I think toward my trembling limbs, please stop—lest they give me away for the liar I am.

“You told them C-Col—” He chokes to a stop, teeth chattering again. “Spider’s s-secrets.”

“Yes.” I point toward the bucket. If he doesn’t stop arguing with me, it’s going to get cold. “I traded her secrets for the chance to get rid of your—”

“You h-h-had no fucking right.”

“Do you hear yourself?” I don’t know how much of this is fever and how much of this is just him being difficult. “You’re sick! Dying! I couldn’t just sit over there and watch!”

“But you could fuck up everything for everyone else.”

“That’s not fair.” How much logic is going to get through to him right now? “If they have any sense, Fox, they’re already gone and out of reach.”

He jerks back as if I’ve slapped him.

Fuck.

I may as well have said, Your brother left you here to die.

Which, while true, is not the best thing to say when I’m trying to get him to believe me. To trust me. To, at the very least, listen.

“I told you,” I say. “I don’t want you to…” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I had to bargain, or else he wouldn’t listen. Please don’t let it have been a waste.”

He’s shaking. From rage, or from chills? I cannot tell.

“Please.” I don’t know what else to say. I am still forcing back tears. “Do you want to die?”

“Yes.”

This answer is cruel, a punch to the stomach, a blow that leaves a bruise—and not what I expected. I hope he doesn’t mean it.

But perhaps I’m just naïve.

Guilt swirls through me as I am reminded of just how far I’ve gone, driven by nothing but pure selfishness.

Don’t leave me here alone. My own words float back to me, bringing stabbing pain to my chest and sweat to my brow. Here I am, trying to soften his current pain to draw out the rest of it. Allowing the torturous last days of his life to drag on.

I cannot let myself dwell upon why.

“Do you want to die here?” I try a different angle. “In here? Do you want to—to let Hatchett win?”

He glares at me with weary eyes. Slowly, the heat of his anger fades.

“What’s the difference?” Hopelessness is all I can hear in his words. “Bree, at least if I—if I die now, I die knowing I n-never gave in.”

There he goes again—shattering my heart.

“I watched my mother die.” I didn’t intend on saying this, but now that I’ve started, I realize how much this memory is fuelling my actions, and I can’t stop. All it took was a little slip of a knife against her hand and a plethora of ill luck. “She got sick too, and by the time we realized how bad it was, there was nothing anyone could do to help her. All I could do was watch. And now it’s happening again. Only this time, I know better. I don’t have to just stand by and watch you suffer. So I…” My mouth has gone dry. “I did what I did. I’m sorry. But I’m not…not really.”

His eyes close and reopen, slow and fluttering, butterflies’ wings on the eve of the first frost. “You s-swear? You promise?” His good hand uncurls from his fist. “You didn’t tell him anything else? Nothing else?

I shake my head.

He stares warily. Please, just trust me. Please let me come closer.

“Why are you still alive?” His voice is quieter, less furious now, but he’s out of breath, gasping in air too quickly. “Why didn’t he hang you like he hanged Ezra Johnston?”

It takes me a moment to remember who he’s talking about—the man who was caught before me. Who was killed. For whose execution I was a spectator.

“I don’t know,” I say, and I pray once again he won’t detect the lie.

He doesn’t ask again, doesn’t push the subject. Relief floods through me, but it’s cheap. Hollow.

“Let me look.” My voice shakes. “They might let you out. Bring you to the medic bay. I don’t know. But please let me help you until then.”

This time, when I approach, he doesn’t shift away, nor does he struggle as I tug away the old bandage on his shoulder. It’s immediately apparent that this wound is the culprit. The bandage doesn’t look like it’s been changed in days, and it’s burning. He gasps at my touch.

“Fucking—hurts—”

“I know,” I say. Is this partially my fault? That day, the day with the flask, I was so worried about the goddamn lashes across his back… I just assumed the shoulder wound was fine. But today it’s flaming hot, the swollen redness visible even in the dim light.

I’m no doctor—farthest thing from one—but I know this is bad. “You want to lie down?”

“No.” He leans back against the wall. It can’t be comfortable with the other wounds pressed against the stone, but he doesn’t complain.

“It’s going to hurt.”

“I know.”

He is quieter than I expect while I wash out the shoulder wound. No cries of pain. The first time I glance at his face, his eyes are squeezed tightly closed, his jaw set. The next time, his eyes are open, but his gaze is distant. I wonder if he’s even really feeling it.

“Are you still with me?” I ask, letting my lank, unwashed hair fall in front of my face as I wring out the cloth. He nods, but he says nothing, and I know he’s not. Not really.

Hatchett would want me to take advantage of this moment. Ask for Fox’s name, see if he gives it. I keep the question to myself. Baden Hatchett thinks he knows me. He fucking doesn’t. I’m selfish, but not in the way he thinks. Not in the same way as him.

Hatchett only wants to win.

Me? All I want is to live. Me and Fox both.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

#lps the prince of thieves #whump #dungeon whump #whump writing #whump story #whump fiction #original fiction #original writing #original story #original content #whumpblr #whump community #writeblr #lps-writes #oc Bree Cooper #oc Will Wardrew #oc Baden Hatchett #oc whump #infection #infected wound #death wish

[elentary]

Trapped - Chapter 3 - Nyariewen - Good Omens (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

Trapped

Nyariewen

Chapter 3: Unholy infection and how to cure them

Summary:

Whumptober 13: “It comes and goes like the strength in your bones.”

Cold Compress | Infection | “I don’t feel so good.”

Aziraphale wounds gets infected.

Crowley has to find a way to solve that.

Fluffbruary - Moar fluff - October 14: sated | game | never

It's never for me.

Notes:

Whumptober 13: “It comes and goes like the strength in your bones.”

Cold Compress | Infection | “I don’t feel so good.”

I wonder why I keep coming back on the infections even if I totally hate that smell.

This chapter is also a fluffbruary prompt (@fluffbruary ): "Never". I was still late but...

#Whumptober2023 #no.13 #infection #good omens #fic #infected wound #aziraphale #crowley #fluffbruary 2023 #moar fluff

[tommysm0ondust]

hey fanfic writers, if you're looking for someone who knows what an infected wound feels like hmu

no seriously tho I fucking hate everything right now life sucks I hope everything and everyone explodes (aka i had surgery on my toe and it's infected)

it hurts and kinda feels like it's burning at times.

also gonna pretend like I didn't accidentally hit it a little over an hour ago and it still hurts.

someone pls come cut my toe off honestly it's probably better than this

#wound #toe injury #infected wound #fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic writers hmu #i hate everything #thie sucks 💔 #ingrown toenail removal #also fhe antibiotics taste like shit

[turnthetablesonthem]

Darkness Falls - 9

Warnings: Infection, Fever, delirium, panic attack, begging, illness, implied non-con, nightmares, past child abuse mention, past homelessness mention, past abandonment, antibiotics, needles tw.

Taglist: @purple-heart-x, @whumpwillow, @briars7, @shydragonrider, @whumpsday, @kira-the-whump-enthusiast, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @interdimensional-chaos, @wolfeyedwitch, @elrys-creates

NOTE: We can always have extra fun with fever whump.

Also, If anyone is curious or wants to send asks to my characters, feel free! (Read as, Please I beg you.)

_______

Nemesis had fallen asleep in a chair next to the bed, her dreams haunted by memories of her childhood and teenage years. She dreamed of the old box she’d used to sleep in, of spending her time alone in the streets.

But the clearest of these memories was the day her parents had abandoned her.

She’d been sitting on the dingy kitchen floor, trying to amuse herself with drawing. Her father had come in, holding a backpack in on hand.

“Girl.” He said gruffly.

The nameless child looked up at her progenitor, her light green eyes meeting his bloodshot ones.

“Yes?” The child asked, standing up.

“Come this way.”

“Okay.” She said, and got up to follow him to the door of the shoddy apartment.

“You’re twelve now.”

The child blinked in surprise. Her parents had never acknowledged her birthday before.

“Today?”

“Yes.” The man said curtly, stopping at the door. The child’s mother stood next the man, her eyes unreadable.

“It’s time for you to go, girl.” The man said.

The child looked up at him in confusion. “Why do I have to go?” She asked. “Did I do something wrong?”

“You’re not wanted here.” The man said.

Tears welled up in the child’s eyes. She looked to the woman. “Mama?” She asked, reaching out with a small, shaking hand. She’d never reached for her mother’s hand before.

The woman looked away.

“Just go, girl.” She said coolly.

The man handed the child the backpack, and opened the door. When she hesitated, he pushed her out. It wasn’t a hard shove, but it was firm, it’s meaning clear and final.

As the door closed, the child began to cry, not understanding what she had done wrong.

Shivering from the cold, the child reached up with shaking hands, pulling up the hood of her coat, concealing her pure white hair.

Nemesis’ eyes flew open and she sat bolt upright, breathing shakily. Her cheek tickled, and when she lifted a hand to it, her fingers came away wet with tears. Ten years later and she still cried every time she had that dream.

She hated herself for that.

A low groan caught her attention, and Nemesis peered through the darkness at Slipknot.

“Slipknot?” Nemesis asked, standing up.

“No.” He moaned, tossing and turning restlessly. “No, no... please.”

“Hey.” Nemesis murmured, reaching out to cup his cheek in her palm. She froze, able to feel the vicious heat of his fever from an inch away. Immediately, she was alert. It was much worse that it had been that evening.

She turned on the bedside lamp, bathing the room in a soft red glow, her hands were still shaking as she reached for a pair of scissors in the medical kit. She took a deep breath to steady herself as she cut through the bandages.

Nemesis winces at the smell as the bandage peeled away from the festering mess of sickness and blood on his chest. The stitches were torn, the infection already seeping from the wounds.

“When did this happen?” Nemesis murmured, as Slipknot’s icy blue eyes fluttered open, foggy with fever.

He moaned in pain, too delirious to answer her.

Nemesis stood up, knowing she needed Joey to deal with this, when a hot, clammy hand grabbed her wrist in a weak grip.

“W-wait.” Slipknot whined, shifting with a hoarse sob. “D-don’ leave me h-here...” He mumbled, his glazed eyes full of panic. “She- she’ll f-find me. I-I can’t.” He squirmed in the drenched sheets with a frightened sob, his skin coated in sweat.

“I-it was b-bad enough when sh-she d-did it, b-but th-then he thre-threatened too- I-I can’t do this, d-don’t make m-me do th-this, please...” He trailed off with an exhausted whimper.

“Slipknot.” Nemesis murmured, sitting next his head, and gently brushing his sweat-soaked locks back. He tilted his head into her hand, mumbling incoherently.

Unwilling to leave him in such a state of terror, Nemesis grabbed her phone, and called Joey’s number.

“Why are you calling me from down the hall at... 2:47 in the morning?” Joey asked with a yawn.

“It’s Slipknot, he’s worse. The infection in his chest. It’s worse, he’s delirious again. He’s scared, he thinks I’m leaving him for those sick bastards.”

“Fucking hell. Okay.” Joey replied, and hung up.

Mere seconds later, he opened the door.

__________

“Hey kid.” Joey said softly.

“Hey.” Nemesis replied, equally quiet, as Joey flicked on the overhead light. Slipknot flinched at the sudden brightness, hiding his face against Nemesis’ leg with a whimper.

“Sssshhh, ssssshhh, it’s alright.” Nemesis soothed, cupping his cheek in her hand.

Joey cursed softly, looking at the wounds.

“He tore the stitches. Fuck, he should have told me, or you.”

Nemesis just looked down at Slipknot, who was breathing raggedly.

“Damn the Rogues, especially Lena, for what she did to him.” Joey hissed, noticing how Slipknot flinched at the mention of his tormentor’s name.

He flinched hard when Joey probed at the hot, damp flesh around the festering wounds, a distressed whine slipping past his lips.

“Easy, easy, just lay still, I know you’re scared, try to relax.” Joey murmured, his heart breaking for Slipknot.

He continued speaking softly, exactly how he had to Nemesis when he’d first found her. He’d never forgotten how scared she’d looked that night, freezing, starving, and covered in blood that wasn’t hers.

Joey shook his head, watching as Slipknot shuddered, whimpering quietly.

Nemesis carded her fingers through his hair, speaking softly to the shivering Supervillain.

____________

It was four-thirty in the morning by the time Joey finished cleaning and re-stitching the wounds. Slipknot was barely conscious by now, his fever having spiked too high for him to stay fully awake.

Nemesis sat next to him, holding his hand as he mumbled incoherent pleas for mercy.

With a sigh, Nemesis lay down beside him, draping one of her arms around his broad shoulders, and cupping his flushed face in her other.

“Just rest. No one is going to hurt you.” She murmured, stroking her thumb over his overheated skin.

He fell still at her touch, his breath steadying slightly.

“Sssssshhhh, that’s it.” She cooed, letting him snuggle against her, smiling slightly as his shivering slowed.

Joey had given Slipknot some stronger antibiotics, as well set up an IV drip to keep him hydrated.

“I’m here, I’ll keep you safe.” Nemesis whispered, holding him as tightly as she could without aggravating any injuries. 

She stayed beside him, dozing lightly, until well after sunrise.

#past child abuse #nightmare #past lady whump #Implied non-con #implied past non-con #iv drip #needle tw #antibiotics #infection #infected wound #graphic infection #illness #fever #delirium whump #delirium #sick whumpee #sick supervillain #sickness #Supervillain character #Supervillain whumpee #feverish supervillain #begging #fear #scared whumpee #whumper turned whumpee #whumperee #past abandonment

[whumpshots]

Whump ABC #9 - Infected Wound

Based on the results of this poll.

_

Caretaker furrows their brows as they look at whumpee who is struggling to keep in the soft pained noises that interrupt their shallow and hectic breathing. They are drenched in sweat, hands shaking at the pain they must be in.

"How are the injuries?", caretaker asks in their professional tone, trying to keep their worry at bay. It's been a few days since they rescued them, but they haven't gotten better - only worse. Caretaker assumes the worst, but whumpee tries to shake it off.

"Fine," they rasp as they rest their head back in the pillow, swallowing hard. Caretaker only hums and lifts the other's shirt, who is too weak to protest. They carefully undress the wound, already seeing what they feared - the wound is swollen, surrounded by reddened flesh.

"That doesn't look fine ..." Caretaker takes a closer look and is met with an unpleasant smell, the wound itself is not the worst thing he has seen, but definitely not the prettiest either. They look up to ask whumpee how high the pain is, but the words die in their throat as the other tenses up and screws their eyes shut with every little touch of caretaker.

"This got infected pretty badly, kid. Hang on, I'll give you something for the pain, but I need to take care of this, too. The antibiotics might do their work just fine, just hang in there, okay?" Whumpee manages a nod and bite back a grunt.

Just when they thought the worst was over ...

#whump #whump writing #whump drabble #whumpee #caretaker #aftermath of captivity #infected wound #whump trope #whump prompt #poll results #wounded #hurt #feverish #feverish whumpee #tw: infection #tw: wound description #whump abc #whumpshots

[angstydays]

Bad things happen Bingo x genshin impact- xiao and Hu Tao x infected wound & grabbed by the chin (maybe xiao overdid himself and Hu Tao found him and kinda forced him to rest because he’s denying his injuries and stuff as usual :D)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/38755392/chapters/100129149

Edit: had to edit and remove a prompt since it goes against the event rules, sorry requester for the inconvenience.

Requested by: Anonymous

Prompts: Infected Wound + Grabbed by the Chin

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Characters involved: Hu Tao and Xiao

Summary: After finding Xiao injured, Hu Tao forces him to take care of himself.

Wuwang Hill's eerie silence would be anxiety-inducing for most people, the fear of the unknown having the capability to overtake any common sense when something out of the ordinary happens.

Hu Tao can't be considered as part of the majority of people, for she loved the atmosphere the hill provided, and her little ghost companion manifested from Pyro energy can agree on that with her. She found it comforting even, strolling through the spooky mountains seem to garner a soft spot from her, and even if something went wrong, she can easily defend herself if need be.

Everyone pretty much gave up on trying to change her mind on going there so often, even the normally persistent ones didn't bat an eye anymore, knowing that she'll come back without harm.

Usually her hikes on Wuwang Hill are relatively uneventful, aside from the occasional run ins with Treasure Hoarders or Hilichurls or Cicins or people who have no idea how jumpscares work, there wasn't any real danger around.

This particular trip however, was different, but in the worst way possible.

It started off well and normal, as normal as it can get with the gloomy atmosphere the hill gave. Hu Tao had managed to dodge a few Cicins and played a few tricks on some naughty Treasure Hoarders. It was quite a fun day for her.

That is, until she hears a distant thud followed by a strangled noise.

She followed it to the source, her curiosity piqued. It could just be someone who is pretending to be injured to get the jump on some poor, unsuspecting soul to mug them, or someone who genuinely needs help. Although she has no evidence that either case is correct, she decided to take a look anyway.

Soon enough, she came across the person who made the pained sound. She expected it to be a Treasure Hoarder with fake blood, or at least a civilian from the harbor, but it's neither of them.

It was Xiao, with very much real, authentic blood dripping from his body, infecting the ground with its colour. Ugly-looking wounds were all across his figure, only a few were covered up by his arm clutching his chest, for better or for worse. His polearm was clenched in his free hand, attempting to use it as a crutch and failing miserably, forcing out another groan of pure pain as he tried to stand up.

"Xiao?" Hu Tao called out, cautiously approaching the Adeptus, her feet stomping on the grass creating a distinctive sound that alerted him to look around instinctively.

"Hey hey, it's me." Hu Tao reassured, quickening her movement until she's right in front of him. Once he knew who it really is, he sighed.

"Hu Tao." Xiao bit his lip, still trying to get up. Typical. "You shouldn't be here. There's something wrong here."

"Aiya, why should I care about that now?" The eccentric funeral director pursed her lips, glaring at him for his blatant disregard for his own wellbeing. She grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him over to a nearby tree for him to lean against.

"You should-" Xiao's statement was interrupted by him coughing up blood, his condition worsening. "Should care. Enough to leave that is."

"Well right now I'm caring about you, idiot." Hu Tao wasn't too well versed in the art of medical practices, but she knew a thing or two from her grandfather, his skills were used to save those who haven't reached their limit yet in many situations. Or when they discovered the supposed dead person their clients wished to bury are still alive.

Pulling the arm that was hiding the rest of his condition - that of which also looked really painful - she can see the true horror of the wounds. Large scabs stretched across his body, looking far too red to be considered healthy.

Hu Tao grimaced at the sight. "Aiya, your wounds are infected."

"Infected?" Xiao, the cold yet honestly oblivious idiot, asked as if it was clear enough.

"Of course it is." Hu Tao's seemingly exasperated sigh disguised her true feelings over the situation. In truth, she really is concerned over him. While Adepti are known to be ageless, they are not immune to dying from other external factors that do not involve aging. Xiao is one of the only few people who tolerate her for who she is, she can't lose him, not now and perhaps not ever. "Qingce Village isn't too far away, you need to be patched up."

"I can't leave yet, there are demons around here and I simply cannot allow them to remain here any longer." Xiao shook his head in disapproval, against the idea of leaving a task like this unfinished.

"You are in no condition to do anything. You can barely walk."

"Hu Tao-"

"I can take over that role if you want."

"You cannot." Xiao looked away from her with scanning eyes, likely looking for whatever demon is here.

Out of frustration, Hu Tao grabbed onto his chin and turned his face towards her. "Do you see yourself? Are you expecting to be fine fighting whatever in Wuwang Hill even in this state? Can't you see how this would affect your abilities?"

Xiao seems to be genuinely taken aback by her action, but strangely enough he doesn't resist this. Either it's because he thought it would make him feel more discomfort or another reason. "The demon must be weak now, I must finish the job."

"If it's weak then surely it's not impossible for me to take it down for you, would it?"

"I..."

"Come on, Xiao. You can teleport right? Just go somewhere safe and heal up, I'll be back before you know it. Leaving an infected wound without proper medical attention would produce disastrous results." Hu Tao didn't notice she let some worry slip into her tone, but it's not like she cares anymore. If he doesn't take care of himself things would get worse later down the line.

Xiao appears to be deep in thought about this, and for a moment he opened his mouth, likely to say something about how he can handle it himself or some other nonsense, but he closes it and it stayed like that for a while. Finally, he allowed the words she wanted to hear come out.

"...fine. You better come back alive Director."

"Course, don't worry." Hu Tao grinned from ear to ear at his response. In a blink of an eye, he disappeared from her sight, leaving her to wave at the now empty spot. "Tootles!"

Now that she was alone, she got up and held her polearm in her hand, following the blood trail left by Xiao in the aftermath of battling whatever kind of demon.

"You'd better keep that promise of yours." She muttered along the way.

#bad things happen bingo #infected wound #genshin impact #ao3 #genshin impact hu tao #genshin impact xiao #grabbed by the chin