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serickswrites · 3 months

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You're Awake

Warnings: captivity, torture, restraints, unconsciousness, blood, blood loss, rescue, caretaker and whumpee

Whumpee clawed their way back to consciousness. They were exhausted. Days and days of torture at Whumper's hand had taken its toll on their body. Between the pain and blood loss, Whumpee had passed out while Whumper worked on them.

But now was time to wake up. They needed to be awake. Need to be alert enough to figure out a plan to get away. To escape. They had to wake up.

The dimly room was musty and freezing. Wherever Whumper had been keeping Whumpee, it hadn't been used in a long time. A scraping sound had Whumpee wrenching their eyes open.

"Oh good, you're awake," a familiar voice came from the far side of the room.

"C-C-Caretaker," Whumpee croaked. Their throat was raw from all their screaming over the last several days.

"I'm here, Whumpee, I'm here." Caretaker came into Whumpee's field of vision. They cupped Whumpee's cheek with their warm hand. Whumpee leaned into their soft, tender touch. "I am sorry it took me so long to get here."

"You're here," Whumpee said as they gave a sigh of relief. Caretaker was here. They were saved.

"Let's get you out of these cuffs."

"Whumper?" Whumpee dared to hope that Whumper was gone.

"Taken care of, love. Don't worry. They can't hurt you anymore."

Whumpee sighed. Whumper was gone. Caretaker was here. They were safe. Suddenly everything seemed lighter and softer. They began to close their eyes once more.

"Ah, ah, none of that, Whumpee. Keep your eyes open." Caretaker's voice was urgent. So urgent. But Whumpee couldn't bring themself to care.

"Mmmmm," was all they could manage.

"Shit. Whumpee. Whumpee! Love, look at me. Open your eyes. Where's all this blood from? Whumpee!"

Whumpee wanted to tell Caretaker where Whumper had sliced through layers and layers of skin. Wanted to tell Caretaker where they had been stabbed. Wanted to tell Caretaker about all their aches and pains. But they were so cold. And tired. And most of all, they were safe. Whumpee sank back into the darkness, knowing that Caretaker had them, and they would be safe. No matter what.

#serickswrites #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump community #tw captivity #tw restraints #tw torture #tw blood #tw unconsciousness #tw blood loss #rescue #caretaker and whumpee #whumpuary #whumpuary2024 #day 23/24 #prompt: “you're awake”#prompt: rescue #queue

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courtneygacha · 6 months

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Who

Tw: Stabbing, blood loss, unconsciousness, unclear character status

Whumpee fell onto the couch, holding a jacket to their side. Underneath was a stab wound that wasn’t fatal (yet), but was bleeding freely. Whumpee could feel the warmth of their blood behind the cloth and it was making them nauseous. They were took weak to put enough pressure on it… surely they would faint sometime soon.

They took shaky breaths through their teeth, trying to focus on anything but their injury. The room was dark and humid. They couldn’t see but they were sure some of their blood was dripping onto the floor.

Just then, the light flicked on and Caretaker stood down the hallway.

“Whumpee? I didn’t know you were home.” They said, walking closer.

Whumpee didn’t say anything; they couldn’t speak through their pain. Caretaker’s smile faded once they saw the jacket. They froze, trying to register what they were looking at.

“Whumpee…?” They said uncertainly. Caretaker rushed to their side when Whumpee let out a groan in response and their head flopped backwards.

“Whumpee?! What happened?? What…”

Caretaker’s horror was immeasurable once they moved the jacket and saw the blood-stained clothes underneath. They looked back at Whumpee’s face, who was very much in pain and wincing with every movement. Caretaker put the jacket back and forced pressure onto Whumpee’s side. They let out a yelp of pain.

“I know that hurts but it’s keeping you alive right now… Whumpee, what happened?!” Caretaker asked frantically and they fumbled with their free hand, trying to call for help.

“I-I got s-stabbed…” Whumpee said, letting their head fall back again before Caretaker lifted it back up to keep them from falling unconscious.

“No kidding, I mean by who? Did you see who?” Caretaker asked again, finally getting hold of the emergency number.

As Caretaker told the operators their location and situation, Whumpee’s vision grew darker and darker slowly. Their breathing became irregular. They were going to die of blood loss, they were sure of it.

“C-C-Caretaker… I don’t f-feel so g-good…” They stuttered.

Caretaker’s focus snapped back to them as they made Whumpee hold their head up again. “No, don’t start with that.” They said, putting more pressure onto Whumpee’s side. The jacket was soaking up some blood and leaving marks on Caretaker’s hand like they were being dry brushed. “You’re not dying, you’re fine.” They tried to assure them.

But no matter what Caretaker said, it wasn’t helping clear Whumpee’s vision and give them the strength to stay awake. The more pressure Caretaker put on their wound, the more Whumpee winced in agony.

“The authorities are almost here Whumpee, can you stay awake a few moments longer?” Caretaker pleaded, seeing the color drain from their friend’s face.

“S-S-Sure…”

“Do you remember who stabbed you?”

“…”

“Did you get chance to look at them?”

“…”

“Whumpee, answer me!”

But Whumpee was dazed as their breathing slowed dangerously and their eyelids began to fall.

“Whumpee! Stay awake!” Caretaker fought with them, “Who did this to you?!”

There was a banging on the door, alerting them that the paramedics have arrived. They looked back at Whumpee: Eyes closed and pale.

Caretaker had to leave their side to open the door for the doctors, who swarmed Whumpee once they saw their state.

Caretaker watched blankly at the scene played out, with the doctors announcing Whumpee wasn’t alive and trying to resurrect them.

Caretaker looked at their stained clothes and hands, moist with the blood of their friend. Their mind became fuzzy as they only thought of one thing: “Who did this to you…?”

Taglist: @whumpy-whump-fanfics @bookbutterfly9 @whumpdreamz @diamond-flavored-whump @whatwhumpcomments

#whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump prompt #tw stab wound #tw blood #tw blood loss #tw unconciousness #unclear character status

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a-sour-nectarine · 9 months

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Hello, fellow writers. I am here to make your lives just a bit easier, by making your character's experience with near-critical blood loss have a little more personality!

(This is how I cope)

One thing they don't tell you about major blood loss? How it ruins everything. You will be nauseated, exhausted, and more than a little traumatized! There are three bags of snacks that are probably going stale on my desk because they are from before the hospital, so the very thought of them sickens me. I can no longer use the same deodorant, because the smell makes me want to die! The shows I watched during the worst of the symptoms now make me barf! Yay!

Iron pills all taste like blood! Every single one of them! I've never met an iron pill that didn't taste like blood! They all taste like iron! Which is what blood tastes like! Even if it's vegan it will taste like blood! Gummies too!

You won't just be kinda sleepy. You won't just be a little tired. Move more than 20 feet and your legs will want to give out, and you will hear nothing but blood rushing in your ears, and your vision will go black. You will try and walk up the stairs and fall down the minute you clear the last step. Everything will be hard. Everything.

It hurts. Your legs will hurt, your head will hurt, your pride will hurt. But mostly your head.

Recovery is so long. It might even be longer than recovery for the injury that caused the blood loss in the first place. Probably not, I'm a special case, but it might be.

If you have a uterus, be warned. Once a month you will feel it all over again. That blood loss is no joke, either.

And finally, IVs suck ass. That's it. I had a 20 minute panic attack in the hospital, not from learning I had almost died, not from being in the fucking hospital, from the thought of someone messing with my IV. They are horrible. The nurse eventually gave up and left the room until I calmed down, because her just being there with the new unit of blood freaked me out so bad. Now, your character will probably not be as terrified of needles as I am, but if they are? IVs are probably their worst nightmare.

Anyway, hope my trauma can help you! Don't ask questions about why I had a haemoglobin count of under 6, you dont want to know the answer! All other questions are allowed and encouraged! I know all sorts of shit now and can help with probably lots of inquiries you might have! Yippee!

#tw blood loss #blood loss #writing #writing advice #i guess?#writing guide #?#idk what this is

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whumpinthepot · 1 year

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@febuwhump 2023

Day twenty two: Can’t scream

—

Whumpee is badly injured on the field with the enemy close to finding them. Caretaker has no choice but to operate emergency surgery on them or they might bleed out. Except, when Caretaker starts to cauterize the punctured skin whumpee has to cover up a blood curdling scream. They stuff a fist into their own mouth and bite down against flesh. Caretaker can’t take any chances, and stuffs a piece cloth between Whumpees teeth to silence them. Whumpee bites down and forces themself quiet with tears rolling along their cheeks. The next burn is even more painful than the first, and whumpee can only pray that the enemy didn’t hear them.

#febuwhump2023 #febuwhumpday22 #febuwhump can’t scream #whump #whump prompt #military whump #is what I pictured but it can be any scenario #field whump #breezy’s post #it could be escape whump #escape whump #tw blood #Tw cauterize #tw burns #tw biting #tw sh #in a way?#cuz of the biting?#tw blood loss

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generic-whumperz · 8 months

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The Aid: Chapter 2- Belligerence

TW: BLOOD, bone break, gore, hurt/no comfort, knocked unconscious, male whumpee, male whumper, alcoholism, drunk whumper, creepy/overall bastard-ass whumper, captivity/enslavement, starvation, basement, collar and chain, knife, non-lethal stabbing, thoughts of accidental murder, non-con clothing ripping (non-sexual), talk of organ removal, literally TW’ing everything I can think of but if I forgot something let me know.

Word Count: 1683

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Wyatt Sullivan smiled and laughed triumphantly, spearing the rest of the knife all the way through The Aid’s shoulder until it butted against the cement flooring. The Aid’s body convulsed from the sharp, hot, searing pain bolting from the stab wound; blood rhythmically gushed out with each palpitation of his heart.

His weeks’ old tattered shirt was evermore stained with a fresh shade of crimson as he lay in an expanding pool of his own blood.

“That’s it, pup, let it out,” Sullivan encouraged, moving his hand down from The Aid’s jaw to his neck, right above the collar.

He squeezed lightly, not enough to cut off his airflow, but just enough for him to feel a light constraint. Sullivan would leave his hand like this, posed in insidious conquest, fingers placed on The Aid’s pulse and just feel him tremble and writhe beneath him. Something about The Aid’s rapidly pounding heartbeat excited him, reminded him of a small prey animal you could hold in your hand and crush if you so chose to.

“So, how will you repay me, you ugly little mutt?” Sullivan finally said after marinating in The Aid’s shrill sobbing for a couple of minutes.

“How- however- you- want s-sir,” The Aid croaked between blubbering cries, hoping to placate his Keeper.

“I-I need money, Mutt; I need my fucking car. How are you gonna help me get either of those things?” Sullivan asked, voice choleric and threaded with gall.

The Aid gulped helplessly through labored breaths.

“I-I could sell you…,” Sullivan whispered, more to himself than to The Aid. The Aid’s eye widened, not in fear, but in hope.

An end to this hell?

Sullivan’s brow quickly furrowed. “Parts of you, I mean,” he sneered, quick to snuff out any notions of his servant escaping to a happier life. “No one would buy you in-in this state…but, but I bet I could get a pretty penny for what’s inside though.”

He adjusted his grip on the knife's hilt and yanked it out of The Aid’s flesh with a wet slicing sound; the auditory effect was hard to ignore. The Aid squealed and thrashed again- fueled by nothing but a fleeting zap of adrenaline- this time freeing his left arm, which instinctively shot up and clutched his pierced shoulder. His shaky hand was immediately drenched in warm, sticky blood as he tried to apply pressure to the wound to help stop the bleeding, but without the knife plugging up the gash, a steady gush of sanguine leaked from The Aid’s upper half.

He felt like a stuck, bleeding animal in a slaughterhouse.

Sullivan wiped the blood off the knife on The Aid’s shirt before cutting the fabric down the middle of his chest and lightly trailing the knife’s tip down his sternum, paying no mind to his blood loss.

“You do have two kidneys, and well, ya only really need one.” Sullivan took a thoughtful moment to consider his options. He sat up, removed his hand from The Aid’s throat, continued the rip down to the bottom of his now useless shirt, leaving him completely bare-chested, and felt around his concaved abdomen.

“Gah, fa-fuck, where da hell are tha kidneys ’nyway?”

“S-sir-” The Aid pleaded wearily, fighting his feeling of lightheadedness, a fight he was slowly losing.

“No, ya dumb little bastard, I-I’m not gonna carve ya up right here an’ now!” Sullivan protested defensively. He glided the knife down to The Aid’s exposed, bruised belly and circled his navel.

He smiled devilishly.

“But I-I will be takin’ one’uf ya’er kidneys ta‘marrow.”

The Aid whined before turning his head to the side, facing away from his tormenter. His eyelids grew heavy, and he was getting sleepy. Well, he was always sleepy; the pernicious side effects of starvation, untended injury, and illness would render anybody in a perpetual state of fatigue. But now, he was losing a substantial amount of blood while in an already anemic state. His blurred vision further weakened and now blackened at the edges. His limbs were tingling; they began tingling some time ago, but the sensation grew more intense, and he felt as if the static stuck in his hands and feet was slowly creeping up into his arms and legs.

He felt his pulse thrum in his throat and follow his breath, wavering between fast, hiccupy inhales and slowed, wheezy exhales. His blood felt as if it were being pumped in the opposite direction while the rushing sound of something akin to a waterfall engulfed his ears, blocking out all other sounds around him. His body was weak, indubitably succumbing to the litany of traumas that wracked him.

He had been forced to play a dangerous game of ding dong ditch on death’s door; was death finally standing on the other side, looking through the peephole and waiting to catch him in the act?

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, HEY!” Sullivan screeched, watching The Aid’s eyes roll to the back of his head. In an act of desperation, Sullivan struck him across the face in an effort to drag him back to consciousness. The Aid all but croaked weakly in response before drifting off into a dreamless abyss as his head drooped to the side. Sullivan pounded his chest, doing nothing but further aggravating his broken rib, yet he continued to hit and scream at the beaten and bloodied servant underneath him, hoping that his eyes would shoot open at any moment.

To his dismay, they didn’t. . .

Fuck.

Did he do it? Did he finally kill him?

His desperate fingers felt for a pulse in The Aid’s neck. . . there it was, weak and sporadic, but a pulse, nonetheless.

He felt a small layer of tension release; sighing, he surveyed the knife wound- then, he noticed the small trailing stream of blood branching off from the puddle of dark liquid The Aid lay in, a pool that had grown a considerable size and now stained his pant legs.

He put the knife down and, with two hands, grabbed The Aid’s shoulders, pulling him forward to sit his slack body upright. Carrying the momentum, his spine hunched forwards, the only thing stopping him from doubling over was Sullivan’s chest that his head rested against. Red still poured out his shoulder gash in the same sporadic pulse that matched his irregular heartbeats.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Sullivan exhaled, more annoyed than anything. It wasn’t that he was a stranger to beating The Aid unconscious and leaving him down here, but this time he was spewing out blood like a nicked water line. He considered getting up and going, abandoning The Aid to a sure death. . .

What would his life look like without him?

It was not that he valued the servant’s life or cared for him in any capacity, surely, but he concluded that he wouldn’t want to deal with his rotting, stinking corpse if he were to expire down here.

Would The Aid haunt him? Reclaim this house for his own?

Sullivan didn’t want to deal with expelling a possible poltergeist, so he mentally settled on trying to stop the bleeding and bandaging him up the best he could, hoping that would be enough. He didn’t have the money to take him to the clinic, he let his chattel insurance lapse, and his servant was well past his 90-day health guarantee- over half a decade past. Hell, he didn’t even have health insurance for himself.

Perks of being an American; God bless.

If he died… he fucking died, but not if Sullivan could help it.

'Gotta get Mutt upstairs. . . compress. . . stop, stop bleeding. . . get a sewing kit, stitch ‘em up. . . gauze, get the gauze and that wrap. . . wrap ‘em up. . . put ‘em in the spare room. . . nah, he won’t run. . . he couldn’t get far. . . no one would want ‘em. . . no one would want this ugly, stinkin’ little mutt. . .'

He palmed at his side belt loop in search of his carabiner key ring; finding it, he singled out a small key that he brought to The Aid’s collar padlock, then with a single twist, the collar and chain dropped to the floor. Sullivan reclipped his keys to his belt loop as he dismounted The Aid; a hand held him upright so he could crouch down and scoop him up, hoisting his enervated body in his arms to carry him bridal-style.

Quite some time had passed since he last carried The Aid, but he was noticeably lighter, at least by 10 pounds. He couldn’t be more than 125 pounds soaking wet; that was light, even for his slight 5’6” frame.

He was immediately met with a head rush from standing too quickly- that, and he was still drunk. He had to take a moment to brace himself and the added weight in his arms. He wavered momentarily, dragging a foot out in front to regain his balance as the blood and alcohol and gravity had to reacquaint themselves.

With staggering baby steps, he passed the stairwell base and continued climbing to the ground floor. Now at two-thirds of the way to the top, his stomach growled and violently churned, causing him to burp a deep-bellied belch that tasted of beer and Chex-Mix, with a hint of salted sunflower seeds.

He leaned forward, feeling his gut flip over on itself and expel bile that hit the back of his throat. He puffed his cheeks out, tightly clenching his mouth shut, and shook his head in an attempt to will himself not to vomit.

Dizzy. So dizzy.

It all caught up with him in an instant.

His foot slipped on the next step.

He felt a pull backward.

He dropped The Aid.

He threw his arms out- reaching, grabbing, clutching nothing but air.

His body tumbled over and over on itself, the edges of each stair nipped at him, until finally, with his body’s full momentum, his skull violently collided with the basement floor.

Crack.

More blood was spilled that night.

Sullivan joined The Aid in a night of restless slumber.

He would have more than a broken car to deal with come morning.

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sappho-favourite-pupil · 7 days

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Tw actual blood (a shirt and a napkin stained).

⬇️

#tw blood #tw blood loss #random blog #lesbian #dykeposting #the shirt will probably be ruined forever now #sad

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thecitythatdoesntsleep · 2 years

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Whumpy Vampire Imagines - Whumpee's

Gosh, do I love vampires in whump? Lemme tell you. Here's a cookie and a beanbag.

Vampires make the perfect Whumpee's based on what lore you prefer. If they're traditionally immortal and restorative based on blood level... They. Make. Perfect. Whumpee's.

No matter what Whumper wants to do to them, they'll always recover. They heal so fast, some injuries don't even last longer than what it takes to inflict them.

Whumper can cause endless pain and torment, however, and whenever they please. As long as they have some blood, they can reverse it and start fresh.

Vampire Whumpees are essentially 0 maintenance. No food, no real need for water. Just blood. Even if they go without it, they just get easier to deal with from blood paralysis. (In my lore bloodloss = eventual paralysis back to corpse syndrome)

If Whumper forgets about them or wants to punish them, they can just leave them. This works so well if Whumper has established neediness in their vampire. Training them beforehand to be used to interaction, engagement, and supervision until the lack thereof is damaging. Easy to do with blood, too.

Whumper can whip them until their arm is sore and Whumpee will feel every split but the slice only lasts long enough to well red to the surface. Whumpee's body heals as the tail of the whip lifts off their skin in the wake. Oh but it hurts the same, it still feels just as damaging as it would for a human but they can take it over and over and over again. Until ideally, it breaks them.

No matter what excruciating punishment, no matter how extreme Whumper gets; it can all be fixed. (Psychological results may vary.)

And the best part? They live forever. A life of pain, of being enslaved, of being passed from owner to owner or Master to Master. Years to train them, craft their personalities, and bend their will until they're whatever Whumper desires.

A perfect pet, a perfectly trained guard dog; built for long nights and endurance. Stamina beyond all means when well fed or submissive and starving without blood.

Their skin is so sensitive to hot and cold, touch or graze, but the pain always lingers just a little longer as it heals. Every injury bears its full weight as time ticks to repair the body. Broken limbs feel the sting of shatter until mended, and skin severed burns until it regenerates and grows back.

The best of them learn how things go, and let themselves be crafted. Let go of whatever they were, whatever they knew and it's easier for them sometimes. Some of them get lucky, and lived good lavished lives. Some are treasured pets, some won as trophies of war; others are passed hand to hand for currency like land or housing.

Whumpees can even be made, turned, and wiped like a clean slate.

Whumper has a forever toy, a plaything that they can get rough with and still leave a lasting effect. Break them entirely, make them cower in submission. Everything is up to Whumper and what they want.

Entirely up to Whumper.

What they drink, how they live, and what they taste or feel. How much they suffer, how free they are, everything depends on what Whumper wants or feels that day.

The perfect Whumpee to last them a lifetime.

#whump #whumpblr #whump prompt #whump prompts #whump community #vampire whump #pet whump #whump scenario #tw whump #tw vampires #tw implied abuse #tw whipping #tw implied torture #tw blood loss #tw captivity #tw dehumanization

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gryphonlover · 6 months

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Whumptober 2023 Bonus 1

Prompt: continuation of day 15

Victim: Twilight (technically)

Words: 1081

Notes: I was very happy when someone asked for a continuation. A few someones have trauma, but they'll all be okay in the end.

Twilight hadn't been too worried when Sky hadn't shown up as soon as expected. He had a tendency to doz off, after all, and he was the first of them so he was fairly confident that he could handle himself. Besides, he'd done it before under worse (far, far worse) circumstances.

But that was before dirty, ragged, <i>bleeding children</i> had run into the village, faces red and pink from tears and panic, saying that a man with a magic sword had saved them.

Twilight could've sworn his heart stopped when he realized what that meant.

If Warriors hadn't stepped in, he probably would have lost his battle against the panic attack that was building in his chest. The captain seemed in his element, and even though Twilight could practically smell the concern wafting off of him, he had things under control. Wind was handed over to Time, the poor kid seemingly lost in some sort of flashback. Wild and Four were on first aid duty, helping to wash up kids, handing out bandages and hugs for scratches and bruises. The rest were reuniting children with parents and working to figure out where the children who were just a bit too far from home could safely stay until their families could be contacted.

It was, in short, an awful lot of chaos.

The only reason the pitchforks and torches weren't out yet was because Warriors had promised that he and Twilight could and would dismantle the traffickers. Slowly and painfully.

The villagers were generous enough to offer them two horses to ride, a bit large to be true riding horses, but still a bit smaller than a proper warhorse. Warriors seemed pleased, and under his direction Twilight saddled them up with the tack that had been provided.

There was something soothing and grounding about going through the motions of preparing the horses, and by the time that Twilight got to the end of the routine, he felt more like himself, more in his body than not.

He swung himself up on his mount, waiting a moment for Warriors to do the same, then tapped his heels against the sides of the horse, prompting it to a walk and then a trot and a canter. He wanted to run out there himself, but they couldn't afford to miss any clues that would point to where Sky was and if he was hurt, then…

Twilight didn't want to think about it, reassuring himself with the thought that Sky had fought off large monsters alone before and was likely fine now, even if the captain's grim silence seemed to think otherwise.

He'd finally untangled the knot that his ribs had tied themselves into when he caught the strong scent of blood in the air. Even as a Hylian he could smell it, which meant that the source had to be close at hand. His head whipped back and forth frantically until he found what he was looking for.

Sky, sitting on the ground, pale and trembling, his sword lying at his side as he desperately tried to keep his wounded leg intact.

All the panic and anxiety he'd gotten rid of over the course of the past hour or so? Yeah, it was back and it was stronger than before.

Twilight practically vaulted off of his horse, running over and pushing Sky's hands aside and replacing them with his own, squeezing as hard as he could to stop the blood. Sky's leg felt unnervingly cold and the knight gave a wheezy gasp of pain before going limp under his hands.

Warriors shouldered him aside and he moved, letting the captain take over while he gently placed Sky's head in his lap. He knew a little medicine, but nowhere near enough to help now except to offer comfort. He wrapped his wolf pelt around his brother's shoulders in an effort to keep him warm and ran a bloody hand through his hair.

He rested a hand against Sky's neck, and the pulse that was there was too faint and quick for comfort. He'd clearly lost a lot of blood before they'd found him, and his body was going to pay the price.

Twilight's sense of time sort of… skewed in the way that it flowed around the sharp anxiety that had found a home in him, and soon enough Warriors was packing his medical supplies back up again, gauze and sharps finding their places back within the tidy little pouches lined with leather to be cleaned when Four had the time to look them over again.

He blinked, and then there was a weight on his shoulder, and Warriors was looking at him with concern.

"We need to get him back to the village. He needs rest and warmth right now."

Twilight shakily ran a hand through Sky's hair one more time and then slowly and gently picked him up, with Warriors adjusting the way that he was holding him. They decided that it would be too difficult to get him up and down one of the horses. He wasn't exactly conscious, but they also didn't want him to suddenly gain lucidity so far off the ground and panic.

Warriors loaded everything back on the horses and took their reins to lead them back, letting Twilight carry Sky in his arms, wrapped up in the wolf pelt in an effort to keep him warm.

The heavy weight in his arms was strangely reassuring. On the one hand, it was a horrible thing to have to carry your brother when he'd lost practically half his weight in blood, but on the other hand a small part of Twilight's brain had to acknowledge that this was the right thing to do.

Warriors was… he was smart. Apparently, he was smart enough to figure out how to transport Sky safely and also get Twilight to stop panicking <i>at the same time.</i>

By the time they'd gotten back to the inn, his heart had settled back in its correct place. Yes, Sky was terribly hurt, but he was here in his arms. He was safe.

They spent the night taking turns sleeping with Sky and watching him. He was cold, even with the added body heat of another person, and he needed to be given water, broth, and medicine throughout the night to help him recover and sleep, but he seemed otherwise fine. He was healing and he was going to be okay.

They were all going to be okay.

#legend of zelda #linked universe #lu sky #lu warriors #lu twilight #whumptober #whumptober 2023 #bonus content #continuation #tw human trafficking #mentioned human trafficking #tw blood #tw blood loss #blood #blood loss #fanfiction #gryphon writes

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serickswrites · 9 months

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Recording V

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Warnings: captivity, torture, beating, bruises, wounds, stabbing, blood, blood loss, cpr, temporary character death, field med, bleeding out, rescue

Max frantically, but methodically, pumped James’ chest. James’ head lolled back and forth with each movement. As Max pumped, he barked another order at Lily’s retreating back, “Full med kit! Be sure it has the epi in it. NOW!”

He could hear Lily’s boots thunder down the hall. He had to have faith that she would keep it together. Remember what he would need to keep James alive. If he could bring James back to life.

“Come on, James, not like this buddy. Come on.” Max continued to pump James’ chest without stopping. As long as he pumped, James’ heart would technically still beat. And if his heart was technically still beating his wasn’t dead.

Which was good because James looked dead. His skin was ghostly pale, his jaw slack and mouth open. Max could see why his heart had probably stopped beating. Between all the bruising and swelling of his face, and the blood that coated his chest and stomach, Max wasn’t sure if James was bleeding out or if he had gone into shock. Regardless of the cause, if Max didn’t get James’ heart beating on its own fast, their mission to get James back would have failed. And Max couldn’t stomach failing James.

Not after everything.

Lily dropped the med kit next to Max. “Do you need me to take over?” She asked, interrupting Max’s thoughts.

Max shook his head. “No. Draw up the epi. When I pause, I want you to stab the needle into his chest right here.” It had to work. It had to work.

Lily nodded. “This should buy us enough time to get him to a hospital. Right?”

“Yeah, it should. In theory,” Max huffed out. “Do it now!”

Lily stabbed the needle into James’ chest, depressing the plunger quickly. James didn’t seem to react. “Did it work?”

Max put two fingers to James’ neck. “Please, James. Please.” Max was rewarded with an ever so faint and irregular pulse. “Got him!” Max quickly scooped James into his arms and started to run. “We need to get him to the hospital. Now.”

Tags: @scarletfern@whumperfultime@kim-poce@whumpwillow@damnitiscrewedupagain@extemporary-whump@st0rmm@pigeonwhumps@dontworrycomics@magziemakeswhatever @enteredin2eternity@mefattortoise @i-cant-think-of-a-new-username @paininmyheart-imalive @parad0xical2@whumpitywhumpwhump@ohwhumpydays@painsthegame@sweetwhumpandhellacomf@off-brand-likes@averydistinctivewhump@justwhumpythings@kim-poce@bookworm7543@steelandblood @wingsofadragonsstuff @basica11ywhumped @parad0xical2 @mypulseisimpulsive @mefattortoise @ohwhumpydays @gala1981

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wolf-the-whumper · 1 year

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No idea what this is from but damn is it pretty!

#whump #whumpfics #whump tropes #whump writing #comic #gore #whump drabble #tw blood loss

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overflowing-with-words · 2 years

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bluebirds, singing

The very last moments of Jay and Cole, and their memories with singing.

A/N: very, very, very short angst fic used to plug the hole for day 5 of summer of whump. i'm sorry. i hate it so much but i can't leave day five blank sobbing. don't read if not ready for terrible work i

• • •

There's a song my mom used to sing to me, Jay says, and Cole smiles.

"What is it?"

Jay's rushed into the ship's medbay at three in the morning, bright blood spilling from the wound in his chest.

Cole and Zane are at his side in seconds, leaving Lloyd to sob emptily in Kai's arms, murmuring apologies and half broken sentences about not being fast enough, not noticing.

Cole barely has time to give him a small 'it'll be okay' before leaving, hoping Kai can take care of the rest.

"It's my mom's song." Jay says, and Cole looks over at the small figure curled up the bed curiously. "Can you sing it?"

"I don't know the lyrics, bluebell." Cole tells him, giving a small laugh, and Jay sits up, grinning.

"Cole?" Jay hums lightly, and his gaze snaps up, silently relived for any excuse to divert his attention from the growing pool of blood on the floor, staining his gi and arms dark crimson.

"I'm here, Jay." He says, blinking away tears at the sight of the lighting ninja's face.

"Sing for me, please?" He whispers, and Cole's expression breaks into relief.

"You know I can't sing." He says, keeping his tone light, and piles more clothes against the gaping stab wound.

"You can." Jay argues, eyes drifting to the ceiling sleepily. "I've heard you sing my mother's song."

"If I tell you, would you sing it?"

"If you stay awake, I'll sing it for you."

Jay gives a small smile, a mere echo of his earlier self, pale and tired. His blue eyes are still bright, Cole notes faintly.

"I would."

The heart monitor drops dangerously, red and white flashing on the screen.

Cole never gets to sing for him.

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