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whump-in-the-closet · 4 months

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“Come on, come on. Breathe. In and out. You can manage that.”

Field Whump Time >:)

Hero collapsed in the moss. The smell of grass rose up to meet him, new and green.

His leg throbbed. He didn't have to look to know that the soft ground was soaked with blood.

His team caught up with him, their voices filling the air with anxious whispers. To him, it sounded like they were shouting.

"Hero?"

"Are you alright?"

"Hey! C'mon mate, get up!"

Hero, with a desperate sound, put his hands beneath him. He pushed himself up on all fours and then, digging a hand into a tree trunk, stood.

The faces of his team blurred together. He blinked and they cleared. He shook his head, putting a hand out to wave them aside. "I'm...I'm okay." Breathing should not hurt as much as it did, but other than that...he was fine. He refused to look at his leg.

"Are you sure?" asked Leader.

Hero took his hand off the tree to prove exactly how fine he was doing. Putting weight on his injured leg sent a spike of pain up his entire body, fresh and horrific. "Yeah," he gasped.

Medic looked at Hero for a long moment, their expression unreadable.

Hero broke eye contact first and took a step forward, to further prove himself. "We need to keep going--AH--" Hero crumpled to one knee, his leg betraying him. His face went white.

Medic turned to Leader and shook their head. As quickly as that, his sentence was passed.

Hero struggled to stand, but Medic put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "Lie down. We have to remove the bullet." They spoke like they were simply announcing the result of a calculation.

Hero looked from Leader to Medic, searching their faces for any way of escape, and found none. He turned to his teammates. Nothing. "No, you don't have to do this." His voice shook. "No, please."

Medic crouched down next to Hero, unraveling their pack. Hero caught a glimpse of shining metal and shuddered. Medic caught him looking. "We have to work quickly." They did not say don't worry, it won't hurt.

The air contracted around Hero as Leader gently pushed him to the ground. It seemed to shimmer, as unreal as this whole situation. He dug his nails into the soft moss when he heard metal clinking against metal.

"Please," Hero tried again. "Please--"

"Give him something to bite down on," said Medic. "You two, grab his arms, don't let him thrash around."

Hero tried to jerk upright at this but his teammates already had him pinned. One whispered an apology as they pressed him into the ground, the other said nothing and would not look at him.

Leader squeezed his hand sympathetically, then held up a piece of leather, waiting to see if he would take it.

Hero blinked.

He was back.

Villain standing above him, just out of his line of sight--

No, no, no, n--no

"Keep begging like the dog you are."

The flash of steel-- the sudden brightness of it inside him-- digging under his skin, biting deep. Deeper and twisting--

Hero was shaking, suddenly aware of Leader and the moss and Medic cutting away his pant leg to reveal not one, but two, bullets embedded above his knee.

He nodded. "Give it to me." He bit down on the leather and hoped it would muffle his screams.

Villain's favorite pastime had involved a knife and Hero under his blade.

Medic pressed cool steel against the wound and Hero tried to scramble away, back arching.

Through the roaring in his ears, he heard Leader telling him to breathe.

He dug his hands into the moss, green and white behind his eyes. The smell of iron grew stronger. He couldn't--

"Come on, come on. Breathe. In and out. You can manage that.”

Hero exhaled a shuddering breath.

Medic dug deeper.

He screamed into the gag.

"In and out!" snapped Leader. "Breathe in and out."

Hero was shaking. He inhaled shallowly, more out of instinct than obedience.

Then came Medic's clear voice, "Got the first one."

Leader patted Hero's shoulder in sympathy.

Hero exhaled. His breathing came at a quicker and quicker pace, hands buried in the dirt, as Medic dug out the second bullet.

The color green danced behind his eyes, dull and pounding. He tried to drown himself in it. It didn't help. The taste of leather in his mouth felt wrong-- like vinegar or something sour-- warning bells going off too late.

He didn't hear Medic's relief when they said, "We're done." He only felt the tight pressure of the bandages being wrapped. His teammates let him up and when he spat the leather gag out, he noticed, vaguely, the dirt under his nails was bloodstained.

He worked his jaw in a circle, trying to erase the taste of wrongness. "Fuck you guys," he muttered.

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whumpetywhump · 6 months

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Kam Pood Tee Hai Pai - Ep. 1

Requested by @applesakura

#kam pood tee hai pai #thai drama #hospital #neck brace #oxygen mask #unconscious #emergency room #cardiac arrest #cpr #defibrillation #blurred vision #golf pichaya #gypsy keetari #whump #thai whump #asian whump

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promptsforyourwhumpfic · 1 year

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Whump Prompt #1021

“Talk to me, A, how’re we doing?” B asked, busying themselves with preparing the [medical equipment] to save their life.

#whump #prompts #emergency care #dialogue #angst #worry #writing #ideas

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glitterarygetsit · 15 days

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some further first-time 911 viewer observations, tsunami edition, summarised from my discord screamings:

eddie dropping chris off with "his buck" just say "other dad" already

A FUCKING TSUNAMI??!?!

oh. oh no. oh no. he's got to tell eddie that--oh no.

THEIR FACES

i am emotionally compromised

OH THANK FUCK

i'm gonna watch that conversation again *watches it seven more times*

buck's "wait, am i gay?" post-feels face

THEY CAME BACK

oh shit buck is down SO bad

SOMETHING VERY LGBTQ IS HAPPENING RN

FUCKIGN KISS ALREADY

#911 abc #you know most shows nowadays don't know how to put blorbos through the Whump-O-Matic 9000 #and then heal them up just enough to stick 'em right back in #but amid the extremely dubious emergencies #overbearing wholesomeness and bothsidesism #this show is somehow doing it every episode #it's like finding a bottle of chateau lafite 1896 tucked between the bottles of screw-top plonk at the corner shop #except somehow every time you go there you find another one

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tildeathiwillwrite · 4 months

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Merry Whumpmas 2023 Day 28: Scars

Week 4 of this bullshit. Only 3 more days left to go! Enjoy.

This is a direct continuation of Day 6: No Where to Go.

TW: painkillers, anesthesia mention, death mention, surgery, burn scars, mentioned abuse

Hero awoke slowly, their thoughts moving sluggishly through their tired mind. Their eyelids were heavier than bricks, but they forced them open, unease and uncertainty roiling in their stomach. The harsh lights overhead hurt their eyes, and they squinted, trying to filter out the brightness and make out their surroundings.

“Oh, you’re awake now.”

Hero turned their head, finding Villain leaning over them. They realized they were sprawled on a flat, uncomfortable surface. Villain’s head was bowed, their concentration intent upon Hero’s side. Hero tried to see what they were looking at, but they couldn’t raise their head.

“Sorry, I guess I didn’t sedate you enough,” Villain mumbled, reaching for something out of sight. “You were already unconscious, so I had to estimate. I think I gave you enough analgesics though. Does it hurt?”

Hero realized with a sudden jolt of fear that they couldn’t move anything but their eyes and head. Were their arms tied down? They couldn’t feel any restraints… “N… no…” they whispered through numb lips.

Villain nodded, distracted. Their hand returned, now clutching a pair of tweezers with gloved hands. The gloves were splattered with blood. “That’s good. Let me know if that changes. It’s not gonna be fun once they wear off.”

Hero swallowed, eyes darting about the room. The walls were exposed brick, and the only lighting appeared to be the one directly overhead, illuminating Villain’s work. Whatever that work was. Was the blood on their hands Hero’s? The only exit appeared to be a door to Hero’s right, behind Villain.

Metal clicked on metal, and Hero’s eyes darted back as Villain exhaled in relief. “Got the bullet out. Now I just gotta stitch you up and give you some more analgesics and maybe some anesthesia.”

Their words sounded almost foreign to Hero. The only thing they understood through the hazy fog was that Villain… seemed to be helping them? “O… okay….”

Villain worked in silence for a few minutes. Hero still couldn’t see what they were doing, so they gazed at Villain instead. Sometime between when Hero had passed out in that dark alley and when they’d woken up in this room, Villain had removed their mask. Their hair had been hastily pulled back, and Hero could clearly see their profile.

They looked normal enough at first, but as Hero’s eyes adjusted to the harsh lighting, they noticed the long, dark scar snaking down Villain’s face. It was old, blending in with their skin tone, but unmistakably a burn scar.

As if in response, the skin on Hero’s upper back tingled, where one of their allies had grazed them during a training session. They’d been drilling reflexes by launching small fireballs at Hero nonstop until they got hit. Once they did, the ally chastised Hero and ordered them to go to the medical bay. They didn’t even help Hero to their feet.

The incident had been almost a month and a half ago, and the burn still wasn’t fully healed. The affected skin itched constantly, especially when Hero tried to sleep. But Hero’s team leader refused to give them anything besides a small amount of aloe on the grounds of ‘building pain tolerance.'

It was all bullshit, as Hero later learned when they broached the idea of taking a break from the team for a little while. None of their ‘allies’ had responded well.

Hero closed their eyes. They didn’t know how long they were trapped in the team headquarters before escaping and fleeing to Villain’s section of the city. They barely remembered most of it, and they didn’t want to. But thinking of it brought images of Whumper, of them beating and belittling Hero for their weakness.

But Whumper was dead now.

Villain had shot them.

Villain had saved Hero.

As if in response to Hero’s thoughts, Villain spoke. “Alright,” they said softly, “I’m done.”

Hero opened their eyes. Villain massaged the sides of their temples, bloody gloves removed. “You’re one stubborn person, Hero,” they said, mouth cracking into an exhausted grin.

“Uh… tha… thank you….”

A look of concern crossed Villain’s face. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, both from the gunshot and…” they gestured to the various cuts and bruises all over Hero’s body. “Honestly, it’s a miracle you woke up at all. I patched up the worst of it, but you’re gonna be recovering for a while.”

Hero blinked, the memory of their team leader fresh in their mind. “Are… are we… safe… here…?”

Villain glanced over their shoulder to the door. A beat of silence passed before they answered. “Yeah, pretty sure. We’re in one of my safe houses right now, no one saw us come in. And the only one who saw you come to me is now dead in an alley which—” they grimaced— “isn’t going to bode well for me whether or not your former team connects the dots.”

“...I’m… I’m sorry I…”

Villain held up their hands, scowling. “Do not apologize. You needed help, you still need help, and I promise you: I’m not gonna let those assholes lay a finger on you. Understand?”

Hero nodded to the best of their ability. Their movement was still limited, but they had begun to regain sensation in their fingers and toes. They wiggled them experimentally. It was like moving someone else’s hand.

The motion caught Villain’s eye, and they smacked the side of their head. “Right. Analgesics. I’ll be right back, you do not want the painkillers to wear off anytime soon.”

Hero watched them leave. They slowly exhaled, trying to calm their racing nerves.

They were safe.

Villain had promised.

Everything would be okay.

Part 1 | Part 3

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whumpshaped · 6 months

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whumptober 29

prompt list masterlist

tw noncon bodymod, betrayal, emergency surgery, bad caretaker(?)

"What happened to me?"

That was the first question out of Whumpee's mouth upon waking, out of a mouth that didn't quite feel like theirs. The voice accompanying it felt even less familiar; more robotic, more... emotionless. They were confused and scared, and yet they sounded apathetic.

Caretaker was silent for a long moment. "You... you've been badly injured," they said carefully. "You're in a hospital. You're safe now."

Whumpee looked around, their eyes sharper than they had been before their injury. They were picking up on details they never would've picked up on otherwise: the model of the medical machinery, the fabric and approximate age of Caretaker's clothes, the exact amount of thermal energy the lightbulb above gave off. It was... odd. It was intimidating.

"No– no, I mean... what happened to me?"

"You've had... surgery. A, a lot of surgery, admittedly, but– but you're okay now."

Whumpee looked down at their body, their eyes settling on mostly metallic limbs with little to no flesh to be seen anywhere. "What... what did they do to me..?" they asked again, more insistently, more desperately.

"They saved your life, Whumpee. They– they wouldn't have replaced any of your body parts had it not been urgent and completely necessary. I tried to argue, I knew you wouldn't want it, but–" Their voice broke, and they slumped back in their chair. "I'm sorry. I... I was selfish... I just wanted– I just wanted you to stay... to be alive..."

Whumpee slowly lifted their hand to touch their face, but their fingers hovered just a few inches away. They had no idea what they would feel. They had no idea what they would see if they were to look into a mirror.

Eventually, they attempted to poke at the soft flesh they hoped they would find there. All they could hear was metal clinking against metal.

general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @whumpkinpie @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @whump-em @cyborg0109 @morning-star-whump @justanotherlokifan @2in1whump @lthrboy @justletmereadmywhump @florissimps

#zi's whumptober scribbles #whump #whump drabble #noncon bodymod #betrayal #emergency surgery #bad caretaker

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macgyvermedical · 5 months

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Home Nursing Advice Column: CPR

I've stopped numbering these because I've been getting the numbers wrong but hey, I got a suggestion for an overview of hands-only CPR:

CPR is a maneuver done when the heart isn't beating correctly enough to move blood around the body. In CPR, one pushes hard and fast in the center of the chest, which compresses the heart and artificially pushes some blood between the heart, lungs, and brain. This helps keep the brain in good condition while other things are done to make the heart beat normally again on it's own.

There are 2 main types of CPR. The first is traditional CPR, where the compressions are paired with 2 breaths every 30 compressions. This helps oxygenate the small amount of blood the compressions are moving, which helps lengthen the time the person's brain will survive until normal circulation is restored.

The second is "hands-only" CPR. This is a version of CPR that is easier and faster to teach (say, in an emergency), but which omits the rescue breaths. Hands-only CPR only works for adults and older teens, and it's a more temporary fix than traditional CPR. But it's better than nothing, and usually people are more comfortable jumping in to help if the know they won't need to give rescue breaths without a face shield.

How to do Hands-Only CPR:

First, check to make sure there are no threats to you and that the scene is safe for you and your potential patient.

Second, check the person to see if they are breathing. If they are not breathing and unresponsive (they don't respond when you tap them hard on the shoulder or shout at them), you don't have to check for a pulse, just get started.

Third, call 911 or local emergency number and put your phone on speaker. Tell them where you are and that you are starting CPR.

Fourth, lace your fingers together like this:

Fifth, place your hands in the center of the person's chest and your arms straight. Push hard and fast, about 100x per minute or about the same beat as "Stayin' Alive" by the Bee Gees. You want to let the chest recoil back to it's original position in between each compression.

Continue until help arrives, the scene becomes unsafe for you, or you become too exhausted to continue.

#whump reference #writing reference #adulting #CPR #hands-only CPR #reference #emergency #first aid

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lurkinglurkerwholurks · 2 years

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Inspired by this art by @terracyte

The footage was no less brutal on replay. The man beside him shifted his weight, coiled as a spring twisted to breaking.

“Play it again.”

The technician looked from Nightwing to his boss. Jim cleared his throat but gave the nod. The small huddle watched again together, a bubble of eerie silence in the center of the chaos.

The tape rolled. The glittering crowd spread across the room, drinks in hand, or hors d'oeuvres lifted to lips, or skirts spinning in dance. Jim could spot laughter, real and fake, as well as boredom, interest, and a few curled lips. But no one seemed uneasy. No one seemed tensed in preparation for what was about to happen.

It was the standard opener, shouts and gunshots into the ceiling. Black ski masks—not clown masks or card masks or anything with a theme, thank God. No gas masks either. In a situation like this, Jim would take the lucky breaks. There wasn’t much else lucky about this.

The feed they’d hooked into didn’t have a good angle, and the sound was crappy. Jim could still hear the screams, high and startled but the short blast of a knee-jerk reaction, nothing more. Fancy gatherings like this in Gotham were always a risk. This crowd knew what they were doing. For some of the out-of-towners, Jim suspected it was part of the allure. Despite the ripple of surprise and unease at the sight of the gunmen, the crowd all obediently lifted their hands, likely expecting to be out their second-best jewels, their insured wristwatches, their backed-up phones.

Then one of the gunmen stepped forward, the ringleader as best Jim could tell, and grabbed a girl from the crowd. He couldn’t tell how old she was—they were all just kids to him now—but even with the crappy angle, she was clearly terrified. The gunman had an elbow hooked around her neck, his gun pressed to her side, and Jim would bet dollars to donuts she was on the edge of passing out, either from fright or lack of air. Not good when you had a gun pressed to your gut and a trigger-happy gunman pulling you backward.

The hostage-taker’s mouth wasn’t clear, his head turned away from the camera, and the audio crackled and popped, so they didn’t know for sure what he was saying. Had he picked the girl at random or on purpose? Was she a hostage or something worse? Was he shouting orders at the crowd, at her, at his men? It was all speculation right now, and speculation gave Jim ulcers.

Not as much as what came next, though.

As the gunman and girl backed away to the left, the crowd rippled to the right, then parted to spit out a familiar face. Bruce Wayne, drink in hand, tie casually pulled loose, Gotham Gazette’s Most Eligible Bachelor smile plastered on his face, took a step forward.

This part Jim didn’t need to hear to know. Take a hostage anywhere in Gotham and nine times out of ten, somehow a Wayne would get himself (or, on the very rare occasion, herself) swapped in exchange. Not that he didn’t get it, but with them all being so smart, Jim thought they’d find a better way. Jim could rely on all the times before to know exactly what charming palaver was coming out of Bruce Wayne’s mouth. It was like a script at this point, the charm, the ease, the little jokes.

Bruce had made it that one step when the ringleader lifted the gun from the girl’s side and shot the billionaire in the stomach.

Jim didn’t jump, mostly because he’d seen it on repeat four times now, but the sudden violence was still a shock, even to him. Gotham gala shoot-ups went a specific way, with the well-worn path of tradition. There were variables, of course, largely hinging on what masks the intruders wore or what players were making moves in the more organized underworld, but nothing like this.

You didn’t haul off and shoot a high-roller in the stomach for no reason, but especially not Gotham’s most harmless son.

Next to him, Nightwing was stiff as iron. Jim wasn’t even sure he was breathing, and he didn’t dare peek to check. There were things a person needed to know to navigate Gotham, and then there were things a person couldn’t afford to know. As police commissioner, Jim’s box of the former tended to be deeper than the Average Joe’s, by necessity. But the things he kept hidden in the latter, few though they were, meant he had to tread very, very carefully.

The footage only went on for a few seconds more. The wise guys finally remembered to check for surveillance and turned their guns on the security cameras. The last frame Jim had was of a ballroom full of frantic high society folks, a group of gunmen with all the hostages they could want, and Bruce Wayne crumpled on the ground, blood seeping from beneath him onto the marble tile.

Well. They weren’t helping anyone staring at a black screen like this.

Jim cleared his throat again. “SWAT’s moving into position,” he said. Nightwing didn’t move. “We’ve got exits staked out, windows, any vantage point we can get. We’re trying to set up communication, see what they want, so we can get folks out of there as quickly as possible.”

That was straight from the handbook, right alongside trading favors for the wounded first.

“We’re working on getting eyes inside.”

Nightwing’s gaze did swing around to him then. Jim found himself looking at the bridge of the man’s nose, rather than dead in his eyes.

Jim knew the list of attendees, had had it appear as if by magic on his car’s dash computer before he’d even arrived on scene. He assumed Nightwing had seen it, too.

“Some of the civilians made it out,” he continued, careful of where he looked, aware of the ears of his staff. “Catering, mostly, waitstaff from the kitchens that heard the commotion and bolted.”

Jim shifted his gaze just slightly, to watch Nightwing’s eyes before gesturing over his shoulder at the ambulance idling with its doors open, silhouettes perched on its end as EMTs circled. “Some kids, too.”

Nightwing’s attention jerked to the ambulance.

“Guess they’d slipped into the back halls to give themselves a breather. Can’t say I blame them. They heard the gunshots and slipped out with the staff.”

Four kids, all middle school or high schooled aged, Jim thought. Again, they all seemed like little tykes to him at this point. Three of them sat on the bumper of the ambulance, shock blankets wrapped around their shoulders. One of them had black streaks of mascara running down her face, her friend’s head buried in her lap, and another wore dress pants with the knees ripped to shreds, probably from a hard fall. The fourth wasn’t sitting but pacing, blanket draped around his shoulder less like a comfort than a king’s cloak. Or a cape. One of Jim’s officers stood nearby, an icepack from the EMT pressed to his broken nose, a precaution in case that last one tried again to run back inside.

“We haven’t had time to question them on what they saw,” Jim added carefully, “if you want to take a crack at it.”

Nightwing’s gaze swung back around, an eerily heavy impression of his usual partner, before a small nod softened the lower half of his face. “I’ll do that. Let me know if you get anything new.”

Jim returned the nod and watched only until Nightwing reached the ambulance before turning his—and with it, his team’s—attention back to the situation at hand.

The issue was they were blind out here. With the cameras out of commission and the gunmen not answering the damn phone, Jim and his team were stuck sitting on their thumbs while the comms crew set up surveillance.

Nightwing was back a few minutes later, lips set in a thin line.

“Anything?” Jim asked.

The vigilante shook his head. “Nothing we can use. Gunshots and shouting. They did the smart thing and got themselves to safety.”

There were holes in that story for sure, considering Perkins’ bloody nose and the scowl on the fourth kid, but Jim had to trust that whatever he wasn’t being told wasn’t relevant.

Nightwing glanced over his shoulder at the ambulance, where all four kids now sat and sipped on their juice boxes, before lowering his voice and adding, “I didn’t tell them anyone was shot. I think it’s best to keep it that way.”

Yeah. Yeah, Jim could see that.

“Quite the party we’ve got going on.” The mechanized voice was the only warning they had before Red Hood jumped literally into their midst. He’d always been one for an entrance. “Gotham sure knows how to throw a blowout.”

The officers nearby rippled with alarm and unease, looking from Hood to their commissioner and back again. Though no longer on the department’s Most Wanted list, GCPD’s relationship with the former crime lord hadn’t come to the same understanding as his with the bats. Hood might wear the symbol on his chest, but no one had forgotten the duffel bag or the drugs or anything else he’d done since his arrival in Gotham.

Hood, for his part, looked completely at ease even as hands drifted to holsters. “What’s the word, bird?” he asked Nightwing. “Commish,” he added, a nod to Jim. The box in the back of Jim’s brain rattled.

Jim gave the officers a small shake of his head, urging patience and hands far away from guns in the presence of a man who could outshoot them all. Nightwing carried none of his ally’s civil spirits.

“Six gunmen,” he said, tone tight, gesturing for the technician to pull up the footage again. “Came in through the west entrance. Ski masks, AK47s. Went straight for the ballroom. Seemed like the usual, but they tried to take a hostage and one of the guests got shot.”

Hood had leaned in to peer at the screen, but he cocked his chin to give partial attention back to Nightwing. “Oh?”

“Bruce Wayne.” Nightwing’s voice was steady, smooth. Jim tried hard not to think about it. “Gut shot. They shot the cameras right after, so we don’t know how bad or what else happened.”

Hood had turned back to the screen, leaning in so close that his head hovered over the tech’s shoulder, his hand gripping the back of the chair. He didn’t flinch at the shot, but he also didn’t move until the tape had reached its end again. When he straightened, Jim did his best not to picture his expression under the helmet.

“What’s the play?” Hood wanted to know. “We got eyes?”

“Working on it. Oracle’s trying to get an in. Have you heard—?”

Hood was already shaking his head. “Nothing. O sent me. Didn’t say, just said to get here.”

As he spoke, Hood looked around, using his height to scan over the crowd of milling police officers, firefighters, and EMTs. His gaze paused for a breath on the ambulance, but kept moving. Jim could guess what he was looking for. He wished he had the answers for both of them.

“Sir?” a sergeant asked. All three men swung her way, but she was looking at Nightwing. “Is Batman on his way?”

Nightwing’s smile was flat, a glimmer short of real, but no one could blame him, given the circumstances. “‘Fraid not. The big guy’s tied up.”

He gestured upward. “Business out of town.”

The other officers looked up to the night sky, where they all knew the Watchtower orbited. Jim and Hood didn’t.

“Just us, kiddies,” Hood said, any change to his tone disguised by the helmet.

Jim cleared his throat again. “So what are we thinking here? No demands so far, but they could be trying to make us sweat.”

“They shot their biggest meal ticket,” one of the officers pointed out. Jim hid a grimace. “If it were about the money, that’s a dumb move.”

“What was the thing with the girl about?” Another asked. “Crowd control? Maybe she was the target the whole time.”

“What? Yeah. Yeah, O, throw it up,” Nightwing interrupted, one hand to his ear. “Footage from inside,” he explained, as the command center screens flickered, then changed on their own.

Bodies contracted, clustering together again. Jim found himself shoulder to shoulder with Red Hood. The kid—and he was a kid, not even the helmet could fully disguise that—was built like an ox. Funny how life worked. He was also about to snap the back of the chair in two if he held on any tighter. That wasn’t Jim’s problem to solve, so he turned his full attention back to the screen.

It was a new view alright. Jim squinted, trying to orient himself.

“Is that a tablecloth?” the sergeant asked.

That was it. A tablecloth. The footage was coming from under a table, slanted-like. A white tablecloth hem framed the top edge, but they still had a partial view into the ballroom beyond.

“This is from a civilian?” one of the uniforms asked, voicing what Jim didn’t dare.

Neither vigilante answered. Onscreen, there was shouting. It sounded like the gunmen, but Jim couldn’t be sure. They could see the guests crouched or lying on the ground, hands folded over their heads, bank robbery style. Not good. It was harder to pass over goods that way, which meant either wearable items weren’t the focus, or the crooks planned to pluck them off of corpses instead of living people.

As if to emphasize the point, a dark streak of blood cut across the floor within view, its trail smeared as if from a dragged body—Wayne’s or someone else’s, Jim wasn’t sure. There were too many things he couldn’t think about right now, so he tried to focus on what he could.

Something was strange about the new footage, but he couldn’t pinpoint what.

Every uniform in earshot flinched at the sound of a gun cocking. All eyes swung to Red Hood, who had straightened and was readying his weapons.

“What are you doing?” Nightwing demanded.

“Going in there,” Hood said in the flattest well duh Jim had heard from anyone on the far side of puberty. “What’re you doing.”

“Hood—”

“No, dickhead, don’t start.”

Around them, emergency responders shifted, still wary of Hood’s guns, but mostly uncomfortable at getting caught up in a family quarrel. Jim wished he hadn’t quit smoking in public.

Nightwing was pressing his point. “—want to go in there as much as you but we can’t—”

“Yeah? Where’s the baby?” Hood interrupted.

Nightwing and Jim both whipped around to look for Robin, both with differing degrees of success at pushing their gaze past the ambulance without stopping.

Shit. There were only three kids silhouetted in the doorway. An empty shock blanket lay crumpled next to them.

Ulcers. This family was gonna give him ulcers with ulcers of their own.

“Like I said,” Hood finished, voice grim instead of triumphant, “I’m going in.”

Nightwing was no longer arguing, instead pushing past the people gathered around to beat Hood inside.

“Sir, should we…?” the sergeant began, then faltered, neither of them knowing how she would finish. Stop them? Go in with them?

Jim didn’t know either. There was no time to answer, though, because movement on the screens caught his attention like a fish hook through the lip.

“Boys!” he snapped, and both Nightwing and Hood jerked to a halt to look over their shoulders. “Something’s happening.”

They didn’t get back in time to see what Jim saw—slender fingers raised in front of the lens, counting down silently, a thin silver bracelet winking with the movement.

Five.

Four.

Three.

On two, the fingers disappeared, and Jim realized that the stillness was what had been bothering him. There were no jitters to the view, not the shaking of adrenaline or adjusting to hide more fully under the table. It was like the phone—because that’s what it had to be, a camera phone—was propped against one of the table legs.

On one, the view went black.

Those watching cried out in surprise or frustration, even as echoing cries rose from the larger crowd.

“Sir!” SWAT called over the radio. “Power just cut out.”

Nightwing and Hood, both of whom had sprinted back to arrive at three, exchanged glances.

“Hold your positions,” Jim barked back, then reluctantly asked, “What’s your eye in the sky telling you?”

Nightwing already had a hand to his ear, listening to his coordinator, the mysterious Oracle. Jim waited, hand on his hips, wishing more than ever for a cigarette in the corner of his mouth.

“Commissioner?” SWAT tried again.

“I said hold,” Jim snarled.

There was more gunfire, echoing from the screen and from the building itself. Jim could feel his own adrenaline about to crest and counted down in his head to when he could wait no longer.

Before he could give SWAT the go ahead, though, Nightwing and Hood both took off like runners off the block, sprinting full tilt toward a building that lit back up all at once.

“MOVE!” Jim bellowed into the radio even as he and the command team took off after the vigilantes. “Bats on the move, do not get in their way, but get your asses in there.”

There was no keeping up with the young bucks, especially not the two with a head start. Jim gave it his best, though. No one knew what was in that room, but whatever they found, Commissioner Gordon would be there to see everyone through.

Getting in turned out to be harder than anticipated. Before anyone outside reached the marble steps, the two wrought-iron front doors up top swung open and spat out a flood of panicked partygoers, pushing back masks, officers, and EMTs alike.

“Let ‘em out, let ‘em out,” Jim directed, trusting the team behind him to net everyone and triage them, be they victim or invader.

It was absolute chaos and Jim paused to catch his breath and keep his footing in the flow. As he did, he listened to the backdoor breach by SWAT, their path clearer and much more straightforward. He was sure Nightwing and Hood were being fed the same feed, though they hadn’t stopped trying to push their way in.

“Nightwing!” Jim called, then tried again, putting the force of twenty years of Little League coaching into it. That caught the shorter man’s attention, yanking his head around on a swivel.

Jim lifted his hands above his head, gesturing as he called, “EMTs! Clear a path!”

Nightwing turned back and called for Hood. The two of them, supported by GCPD, formed a kind of human sluice, shunting people to either side down the front steps so EMTs could charge straight up the middle. Jim followed in their wake, like riding in the traffic void left by an ambulance, and in so doing hit the ballroom ahead of both the bats and his own officers.

Good. Let him see it first.

The smell of blood was unmistakable, mixed with the acrid tang of gunpowder. It was on the floor, in streaks and splatters, trailed by the shoes of the people who continued to stream past and mixed with spilled punch and trailing tablecloths from overturned tables.

Six bodies lay on the ground, not moving, though some groaned weakly, as SWAT swarmed over them.

“Sir? Sir!”

Jim’s attention whipped toward the strident tones of the EMTs, but they weren’t talking to him. Three EMTs surrounded a pale and trembling but upright Bruce Wayne, one hand pressed to a wadded cloth held over a blood-soaked stomach.

“Sir, let us treat you. You’re in shock and we need—”

“My—My children.” Jim couldn’t hear him over the crowd, his voice too quiet, but he could see Bruce’s lips move, could guess what he was saying. “Please, are my kids okay? Have you seen my kids?”

Jim opened his mouth to call out, but was beat to it.

“Bruce!” a thin boy, collar undone to unveil a throat full of Adam’s apple, shirt untucked and flecked with blood at the hem, pushed his way from the other side of the crowd. “Bruce!”

Bruce Wayne whirled, only just managing to keep his feet, and called back, “TIM!”

He caught the boy with his free arm, both of them steadied by increasingly agitated EMTs.

From the other direction, a dark-haired girl sprinted in bare feet across the slick floor to appear by their side, only to be engulfed in a hug as well.

“Father!” Damian Wayne, the boy from the ambulance, appeared as if by magic, ignoring everyone in his way.

Jim could feel two bodies come up behind him, staring, as he did, at the little family tableau. Bruce Wayne stood surrounded by three of his four living children, pressing kisses into each of their scalps as he leaned for support on the elder of the two boys. Someone let out a quiet sigh of relief. Jim wasn’t sure who, and he pretended not to have heard anyways.

Thank God, he thought again, for the second time that night, and meant it. He would still be popping antacids for days after this.

Without looking back, Jim gestured forward at the gurney that the EMTs were trying and currently failing to load their patient onto. “Make sure they’ve got a clear path out of here. I’ve got a mess to tend to.”

“Sir,” Nightwing responded for the both of them.

Jim had enough to keep him occupied that it wasn’t hard to keep his eyes off Bruce Wayne. There were perps to secure and wheel out, all unconscious or sporting multiple broken bones from attackers they couldn’t name. Triage was still in effect, sorting through panic attacks, concussions, and a sprained ankle or two, though Bruce Wayne took the gold with his through-and-through bullet wound, and the girl he had saved, a foreign diplomat’s daughter, took silver with her bruised throat. Taking statements would take all night, and Jim was already craving a cup of coffee.

Bruce Wayne finally consented to being wheeled out, bloodstained shirt covered by a blanket thrown around his shoulders, his children trailing along behind him like so many half-grown ducklings. Jim was glad he didn’t have any young shoulders to wrap his jacket around tonight.

There were things a person needed to know to navigate Gotham, and then there were things a person couldn’t afford to know. As police commissioner, Jim’s box of the former tended to be deeper than the Average Joe’s, by necessity, and the latter he kept under padlock. They stayed with him, sometimes an easy burden, but more often a weight he bore because someone had to, because the city needed someone to.

A flicker of movement caught the corner of his eye, and Jim half-turned before he could catch himself, watching as the Wayne girl, Cassandra, doubled back and paused at a table to pluck her shoes from beneath the tablecloth. His attention caught her own, and she met his gaze with an unflinching solemnity too heavy for one so young. Jim lifted a hand, as if to wave her off, but tapped the inside of his own wrist quickly as he did so. The little Wayne girl stared for only a heartbeat longer, then unclasped the identifiable silver bracelet from her arm and tucked it into her skirt, along with her phone.

She smirked, winked, and hurried after the rest of her family.

Jim sighed.

Ulcers.

#whumptober2022 #altno.14 #emergency blanket #batfam #batfic #fanfic #my fic #jim gordon #bruce wayne #Jason Todd #dick grayson #Tim Drake #Damian Wayne #cassandra cain #gunshot wounds #hostage situation #whump

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weirdstrangeandawful · 1 year

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Whumpee's lying on a sidewalk with no jacket in the dead of winter when Caretaker finds them. They had just meant to step out briefly and it wasn't even below -10°. They hadn't meant to [overdose/get injured/have a medical emergency] after all.

Nonetheless, here they are, verging on hypothermia on top of everything else. Caretaker pulls off their jacket and wraps it around Whumpee, feeling the wind nip at their skin through their now exposed fleece as they wait for the ambulance.

#whump #whump prompt #medical emergency #hypothermia #winter whump #injured whumpee

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wolfeyedwitch · 1 year

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Trying to write my vampire story be like:

My brain: pomegranate seeds held in an open palm, dripping juice dark as blood.

Me: okay, cool.

My brain: hunger as a metaphor for love and longing.

Me: yes, but...

My brain: open-mouthed kisses pressed to delicate, broken skin

Me: brain, please—

My brain: sacrilege everywhere; all the religious motifs being deliberately placed alongside longing and lust and love. Humans making a sacrament of their own blood to their vampire lover.

Me: BRAIN! I need a PLOTLINE, not just vibes!!!

My brain: ...

Me: ...

My brain: ...

My brain: drops of blood like pomegranate seeds, drawing parallels to Persephone's descent to the underworld

Me: *flips table*

#i dont even know #i can't get any plot to emerge #i just have Vibes #no plot just vibes #vampire aesthetic #aesthetic #whump aesthetic #whyyyyy

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whumpetywhump · 7 months

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Whumptober Day 15 - Makeshift Bandages

Love For Ten: Generation Of Youth - Ep. 12

Queen For Seven Days - Ep. 7

The Moon (2023)

Vanguard (2020)

Voice 110: Emergency Control Room 2 - Ep.9

#whumptober 2023 #no.15 #makeshift bandages #love for ten generation of youth #queen for seven days #the moon #vanguard #voice 110 emergency control room 2 #whump #kwhump #jwhump #cwhump #asian whump #gifs

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staydandy · 6 months

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Tokyo MER: Mobile Emergency Room (2021) - TOKYO MER～走る緊急救命室～ - Whump List

List by StayDandy Synopsis : The members of Tokyo MER are emergency care professionals who go to sites of dangerous accidents and disasters using an ER car that equipped with the latest medical devices and an operating area where Tokyo MER saves the lives of the injured. Kitami Kota is a doctor for Tokyo MER and its leader. He holds firm convictions that he goes to accident sites to save lives regardless of the dangers. (MDL)

Whumpee : Kitami Kota played by Suzuki Ryohei (top left) • Otowa Nao played by Kaku Kento (top right)

Country : 🇯🇵 Japan Genres : Thriller, Drama, Medical

Notes : This is a Full Whump List • Hina Tsurumaki annoyed the shit out of me • The bureaucracy side of it wasn't for me, blurred through a lot of that, mostly stuck to the medical bits

Episodes on List : 6 Total Episodes : 11

*Spoilers below*

01 : Kitami is in a building that collapses (no serious damage) … trying to operate in a building filling with gas, lightheaded, vision blurring, almost passes out … Kitami & Otowa receiving oxygen, Otowa has minor injuries

05 : Trapped in a broken elevator filling with smoke … almost passes out, given oxygen … passes out.. wakes in a hospital bed

08 : A rock falls & hits Kitami's leg … electrocuted, heart stops, receives CPR.. hospitalized

09 : Trapped in a building filling with carbon dioxide … collapses, given oxygen

10 : (near end) Blown back by an explosion

11 : Hospitalized … Otowa is in a room filling with gas, unsteady, vision blurring, almost passes out

More Whump Lists for this show: whump-lover-and-reader

#whump #whump list #full whump list #Asian whump #Japan #Tokyo MER #Mobile Emergency Room #TOKYO MER～走る緊急救命室 #Kitami Kota #Suzuki Ryohei #Otowa Nao #Kaku Kento

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foundfamilywhump · 2 months

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Grey's Anatomy Whump Gif Series | 13x12 | Owen Hunt calms a panicking patient who arrived to the ER tangled in razor wire, cutting himself on the wire in the process.

#grey's anatomy #grey's abc #owen hunt #kevin mckidd #whump #whump gifs #barbed wire #razor wire #blood #hospitals #emergency room #gav gab #gav op #gifset #gav gifs greys

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whumpbump · 4 months

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🛁 for baby

Baby pt. 15 - The Rescue

Cw: emeto mention, nonsexual nudity, abandonment, drawing blood in a medical setting, medical treatment, first responders including police

Sirens grew louder as the young mother and Whumpee sat on the bench together. First responders approached carefully.

“Did someone call for help here?”

“Yes, hi,” the woman started, “I brought my child to the park and I found them here, covered in vomit, cold, and I think they’ve been abandoned.”

“Ma’am, I need you to answer some questions while we help them. Could you come this way with me, please?”

Obliging, she looked back at Whumpee. So sad, she thought. I hope their guardians rot in hell for leaving them like this.

The paramedic and officer stepped closer. Whumpee looked up at them. “Do you know where my BiBi and ZaZa are?”

Shifting uncomfortably by this question, they looked at one another in concern.

The paramedic sat on the bench with Whumpee. “Hey there, you look like you could use some help. Can you tell me your name?”

“Oh. BiBi and ZaZa told me it’s Baby, but,” they shifted in excitement of their secret, “I used to have a different name that we don’t use anymore.”

“If you tell me, I can help you.”

“I don’t want to get in trouble with BiBi and ZaZa though, they’ll make me get sleepy. I don’t like it when they make me get sleepy.”

This was much worse than a distress call. Thinking quickly, the paramedic said, “I promise I won’t tell BiBi or ZaZa that you told me.”

Eyes lighting up with relief, Whumpee whispered their true name in the paramedic’s ear. Writing it down and handing it to the officer, the paramedic said “hey are you hungry?”

Whumpee nodded vigorously.

“If you come with me and my friends, we’ll get you all cleaned up and something to eat.”

Whumpee allowed themself to be guided to the ambulance and giggled as their vitals were taken.

The officer rode along and took note of everything Whumpee was saying, who was in blissful ignorance of what had truly occurred to them. Casually answering the questions about what happened when BiBi and ZaZa made them made them “get sleepy” and why they did that and how they knew BiBi and ZaZa in the first place.

“Well they put this stuff in my eyes. It doesn’t hurt but it makes me sleepy and I don’t like it.”

“They only put it in my eyes when I’m being bad.”

“Oh. Well, they weren’t always with me and then, they were.”

In the emergency room, Whumpee met a new friend - an advocate for adults with disabilities.

They were very friendly and sat with Whumpee the whole time, making sure they always had a friend. Whumpee thought this was very nice.

After a preliminary examination, Whumpee was told that the doctors needed to test Whumpee’s blood to make sure it was healthy.

As the nurse pulled out the needle, tears welled in Whumpee’s eyes.

“NOOO NOT AGAIN! PLEASE NOT AGAIN!”

With sadness in their eyes, knowing something terrible happened to their patient, Whumpee was quieted by the advocate and the nurse gently took blood.

Tears ran down Whumpee’s face. “I-I’m SORRY I didn’t, didn’t mean to be b-BAD. PLEASE-HE-HEASE don’t give me any more shots!”

“No, baby, they aren’t punishing you, they’re making sure you’re ok. Sometimes doctors and nurses do things that are uncomfortable to us because that’s how they make sure we’re healthy.” The advocate handed Whumpee a tissue and talked them down from their panic.

A special nurse came in and asked if Whumpee was ever touched in a bad way on their bathing suit area. Everyone took a collective sigh when Whumpee said no. The special nurse wrote that down and left.

A different nurse entered the room. “Let’s get you clean, now,” they said.

All together, Whumpee, the advocate, and the nurse walked down the corridor to a room with a bathtub.

Whumpee pulled their vomit-soaked clothes off as the nurse ran a warm bath. Holding their hands, the nurse and advocate assisted Whumpee into the bathtub.

Sinking into the warm water, Whumpee exhaled deeply. For the first time in about two days, they finally felt warm.

“Can you clean yourself, or do you need some help?”

“Um. BiBi and ZaZa always helped.”

“Do you remember how to clean yourself?”

“I can try.” Whumpee, a little unsure, took a washcloth and wiped the grime off of them. The nurse offered to wash Whumpee’s hair. Whumpee melted into the touch as the nurse’s fingers massaged Whumpee’s scalp with the shampoo.

By the end of the bath, Whumpee was finally starting to feel the exhaustion of sleeping on a bench and withdrawing from the drugs.

They toweled off and were helped into a hospital gown, socks, and adult briefs before walking back to their bay.

As Whumpee fell asleep on their gurney, the advocate, responding officer, and doctor all met outside the curtain.

Sharing notes, they couldn’t help but remember the string of bodies found in the last few years that had stopped for a few months with shockingly similar patterns.

“The others showed symptoms of being well-fed but lost muscle for someone of their age and ability. As if they weren’t allowed to move around as much.”

“That,” interjected another, “shows that they’re being kept hostage and paired with the clothes that we found them in, would suggest that someone- or- some people, are keeping Littles.”

“If we can get them to identify their captors, maybe we can break into the world of abducted Littles. We know there are more out there, but they’re hard to catch.”

The officer ripped open the curtain, invigorated by the new lead only to find a note on the gurney.

‘Thank you for taking care of our Baby.’

#whumpee #whumpblr #whump blog #whump ideas #whump #whump inspiration #whump tropes #whumper #nonsexual nudity #emeto tw #cw emetophobia #emergency room #cw medical #medical examination

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