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tildeathiwillwrite · 14 days

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The Lodge

(Trials of the Six, Chapter 1 Scene 1)

WoW Birthday Whump Event Day 14 (2nd Iteration): (Alt) Amnesia, Poison

Whumpril Day 30 ("Out of Time")

WoW Birthday Whump Prompts List

Whumpril Prompts List

TW: unconsciousness, amnesia, fighting, blood, stab wounds, death, cornered, poison, headache, dizziness

So… fun fact: @whumperofworlds and I share a birth month! Hers was on the 11th, and mine is today! So in addition to Day 14’s contribution, here’s a snippet using one of the alt prompts for one of my personal favorite whump tropes: amnesia, with the first character I ever gave it to, Hiel.

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“Get up, kid.” A man’s voice, rough and distant.

“Come on, wake up!” A woman’s voice, soft and frantic.

A hard slap sent sharp pain across his face. His eyes snapped open. He lay on the floor of a wooden lodge, where a roaring hearth lit the scene with warm light. A woman crouched over him, exhaling in relief when his eyes opened.

“By the skies, Hiel! Don’t scare us like that!” She rocked back onto her heels, brushing red-blonde hair away from her face.

Hiel pushed himself into a seated position, dizzy. “What… what happened?” Something large and furry pushed against him, and he turned his head to find a giant cat, as long as he was tall, nudging his arm with her nose. He hesitantly petted the fur behind her head.

“When I get my hands on that woman, she’ll wish she’d never been born!” Hiel flinched at the sharp tone from someone he hadn’t noticed, a man with dark hair and beard who leaned over a table on the opposite end of the one-room lodge, arms folded.

“Korfel,” the woman began, getting to her feet, “Elya is gone. No clue where, but we accomplish nothing dwelling on the past.”

The man’s name was Korfel. Why did Hiel not know that? Why didn’t he know his own name until the woman addressed him as Hiel? “What’s going on?”

The woman turned to him, surprise and confusion in her expression. “What do you mean?”

Hiel rubbed his aching temples. “I… I don’t know anything.”

“You mean you… don’t remember?” She cursed when he nodded hesitantly. “Now I want to murder a healer.”

Korfel scowled. “Just what we need,” he muttered angrily. “Can you still freeze things? Fight?”

“I freeze things?” The space behind Hiel’s eyes started throbbing. He pressed a hand to his eyes in a crude attempt to soothe the aching. “Why does my head hurt so much?”

“Probably a side effect of the "medicine"—" Jarsali traced air quotes around the word— "Elya gave you. You were out for several minutes before we noticed something was wrong.”

Hiel struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on a nearby chair. “Who are you people?” he demanded, panic rising.

The woman shifted away from him slightly, unnerved. “Well, I’m Jarsali. The angry one is Korfel. You’re Hiel, and the giant fanged simoldon is Nial, your pet… cat…thing?”

She was about to say something else before the door burst open. Two people ran inside. A pale man with blue hair was first, heavily favoring his leg. Right behind him was a dark-skinned woman who slammed the door behind her. They both carried packs that seemed to have been filled in a hurry.

Korfel shoved a chair under the knob. “I asked you to get supplies, not have the whole town up in arms!”

The woman held her hands up defensively. “They attacked us first!” She flinched at the look Korfel gave her and the blue-haired man. Muffled shouting came from outside the lodge, and Hiel realized that asking who these new people were right now was not the best move.

The door shook as someone from the other side kicked it. Korfel cursed under his breath and grabbed a curved sword from where it had rested on the table. The new woman tossed her bag on the floor and drew a thin obsidian knife, and Jarsali snatched up a quarterstaff from where it leaned against the wall.

The chair splintered with a crack, and the door flew open, sending it across the room and narrowly missing Hiel. Warriors in leather armor brandishing spears poured inside, engaging the defenders. Korfel charged those in front, knocking spears aside and slashing wildly at their owners.

Jarsali swung her staff at the leg of the closest warrior with such speed Hiel briefly lost track of it. With a sickening snap, the warrior collapsed to the floor, moaning and clutching his broken knee. Nial used his body as a springboard to get to the one behind him, claws out and snarling viciously.

Hiel backed away, feeling incredibly useless. Even if he remembered how to fight, there was no way he’d be able to do any good in this state. He noticed that the blue-haired man hung back as well, though he seemed like he’d be more formidable even with his injured leg.

A warrior somehow got past the combined strength of Jarsali, Korfel, and Nial. He charged straight at Hiel, who stumbled away so the chair he was leaning on was between him and the attacker. The warrior kicked aside the chair with ease and charged.

Before he could get any closer, the woman with the knife darted inside his reach and thrust it into a seam in his armor. He stumbled back, clutching at the wound. The woman was relentless, pressing him back and baiting him. The warrior overextended his spear, and the woman slipped within his reach, driving her knife through his throat. He collapsed, blood bubbling from the fatal wound.

“You’re welcome,” the woman said as she passed him, wiping her knife off with her skirt and dashing towards the wall. She ran her fingers across the wooden panels, searching for something. Hiel picked up a leg from the broken chair and watched her curiously, keeping a wary eye on the battle.

The woman tapped along the seams between panels, eyes narrowed. Another warrior got past the others and ran straight for the woman, whose back was to him. He would have stabbed her through the heart with his spear, but he instead inexplicably flew backward, right into the spear of one of his allies.

Korfel quickly finished them both off with a well-placed slash. “We're out of time, Raiann!” he shouted as he engaged another.

“Almost!” Raiann dug her knife in between two panels and pried one away, revealing sunlight and a snow-covered landscape. A river flowed nearby, with a boat moored to a small dock. The boat’s sail was tied down, it wasn't going anywhere quickly. A cold wind gusted through the opening as Raiann pulled off another board and sheathed her blade. “We’ve got to go!”

The blue-haired man limped past Raiann and stumbled over the threshold of the impromptu back door. She caught his arm and helped him down, taking on some of his weight and half-dragging him towards the boat. Hiel glanced at the warriors trying to force their way to the front, unable to get past Jarsali or Korfel.

“They’re escaping out the back!” One of them shouted, seeing the opening.

Korfel cursed and retreated. The tip of his blade dropped to the ground, and he reached out his hand. The ground below their feet rumbled as his expression calmed, but his eyes burned with anger.

Nial sprang back towards Hiel and stood before him protectively. Hiel hesitated for only a second before staggering towards the opening in the wall. With a light “mrrp?” noise, Nial leaped through onto the snow after him. Hiel shivered, wrapping his arms around himself as the giant cat accompanied his stumbling steps to the boat that bobbed in the river.

He clambered on the boat and leaned heavily on the railing, the dizziness returning in full force. Nial moved to his side and settled down next to him. Jarsali, staff in hand, leaped onto the deck and dropped it with a clatter onto the deck. She shoved a bundle of heavy cloth at Hiel as she faced the stern. “As soon as Korfel gives the signal, be ready to move this rig!”

Hiel unfolded the heavy cloth to find it was a thick coat. He pulled it on gratefully and opened his mouth to thank Jarsali. But before the words could form, the lodge shuddered violently.

The small boat rocked as the water began to swirl around. Hiel flinched and grasped at the side of the boat for dear life as Korfel appeared through the opening, running at a full sprint to the boat.

He threw himself over the railing and shouted something unintelligible as the lodge shook like an earthquake was assaulting it. The sounds of rushing water filled Hiel’s ears, and the boat suddenly accelerated, moving downstream at an impossible speed. The last glimpse Hiel had of the lodge before it was out of sight was the walls collapsing in on itself, warriors fleeing the falling building.

@fourwingedsnake @whumpril @pigeonwhumps

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flowersarefreetherapy · 3 months

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My Love Is Mine All Mine

CW: hospital setting, character death, mourning, unhealthy relationships, pet whump, brief violence, implied past violence, implied past noncon, brief mention of disordered eating, begging, sexually degrading language, self harm (not graphic or a lot, but it in here), self-blame

The heart monitor beeps out a steady rhythm, one Cameron finds himself counting in a desperate attempt to hold on to hope. His tailbone goes numb and he shifts on the cold plastic chair, trying to move as little as possible.

Angelina and Andrew don’t pay attention to him. She sits at her father’s bedside, Andrew’s hand on her thigh, scrolling through Instagram. Emmaleigh slumps on the chair next to Cameron, eyes glued to her iPad screen. Lucas, Angelina’s brother, just left, saying something about talking to a lawyer and coming back at a later time. Cameron doesn’t want to pay attention. He wants to be at Patrick’s side, curled up close like he is supposed to be. Not trapped in a corner of the room with a literal child.

“Mom!” Emmaleigh whines. “I’m hungry!”

Angelina’s gaze remains locked on her phone. “Andrew, would you take her to get some food? I don’t want to leave Father.”

Andrew nods. “Come on, Emma. Let’s go get something from the cafe.”

“No! I want McDonald’s!”

Cameron rolls his eyes. Of course she wants McDonald’s. Maybe they could bring some back and he could try the fries? They look so good on the television and he’s wanted to try them for years. Patrick never let him. That much grease and fast food ruins his figure. Cameron knows this.

But you won’t have to worry about what you eat much longer, will you?

No. Patrick is going to be okay. This is just a small cold. It’s nothing awful. He’s strong and has good lungs and whatever the doctors say, they’re wrong. They don’t know his master like he does.

Andrew gives in, as he always does. Soon it is just Cameron and Angelina in the room with Patrick. She still isn’t paying him any attention. Nor is she looking at Patrick. Cameron swallows back a scream. This is her father in the hospital and she doesn’t care! He cares! He could take better care of Patrick than anyone here!

The chair creaks as Cameron stands and walks over to the hospital bed. He moves softly, relying on all his training to stay as quiet as possible. Angelina doesn’t look up. Cameron perches on the edge of the bed and takes Patrick’s hand. It feels so much weaker than he remembers. Thin, papery skin and fragile bones when he remembers a strong, unwavering grip pushing the knife through his skin.

Cameron swallows back a sob and curls up next to his master. There’s barely any room on the bed, but he folds his knees close to his chest, resting his head on Patrick’s chest. He can hear every breath rattle in his lungs. It’s alright, there’s medicine and monitors and this will be okay. His master is strong. He can survive this.

Angelina scoffs, but doesn’t move him from the bed. Cameron is grateful for the small blessing. The sterile air of a hospital burns his nose, bringing back other memories. He squeezes his eyes shut against the white light, grabbing his master’s hand.

You aren’t there. You aren’t there. You have a master. Someone chose you, remember? You weren’t abandoned.

The beeping and shallow breathing pulls him into a half-wake trance. Cameron’s eyelids grow heavy. For a moment, he’s back in their bed, the thick comforter keeping him down as his master shifts next to him. He’ll be awake soon. Will it be the knife? Or the ropes? Or maybe just round after round that will leave him bleeding in the shower? A shudder of pleasure slips down Cameron’s spine at the thought.

Fingers dig into his shoulder. Yanking him from the bed. Cameron cries out as his head hits the wall, a blow hard enough to blur his vision. He blinks hard. White coats and shouting, so much shouting. Drawn out beeps. Light glints off a needle and Cameron flinches. He folds himself in a corner, hugging his knees tightly to his chest.

“Please, please, please, I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’ll be good, I’ll be better, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, so sorry.”

Where is his master? Where is he? Why hasn’t he come for him? Cameron blinks back tears. It’ll be okay. Patrick will get him. He’ll pick him up and kiss him, tasting like whiskey and cigars, and he’ll be safe. Cameron knows he’s safe. He hasn’t been sent back there. He’s been too good for his master to have that happen.

Silence. Emmaleigh crying. Angelina stands stiffly, expressionless. Cameron uncurls, ignoring the annoyed looks from the doctors. They’ve hated him from the moment he was brought here. It doesn’t matter to him anyway.

“. . . what happened?” he whispers.

Emmaleigh cries harder. The iPad lays forgotten on that stupid chair. Cameron crawls to the edge of the hospital bed. It’s too quiet.

Don’t look. Don’t ask. You know. Just sit in the corner and hope they forget about you. Don’t make this worse than it already is.

His master’s face is lax and pale, a shade Cameron has only seen once before. A Guard trainee who was supposed to show him his place, only to die overnight from what the handlers called internal bleeding. He’s seen death before. He knows what it looks like. But it doesn’t happen to those he loves. It isn’t supposed to happen to his master.

“Sir?” Cameron whispers, grabbing his master’s hand. It’s cold. Bile burns the back of his throat. “Sir, please, say something. I-please don’t leave me!”

“Get away from my father, whore!” Angelina’s nails scrap across his scalp as she pulls him away. Cameron yelps, scrambling to ease the sudden pain. “Don’t you dare pretend you cared about him! All you cared about was who would fuck you!”

“Please!” Cameron sobs. Tears burn down his cheeks. Patrick said he was a pretty crier, that he looked best when he cried. “Please, please, I love him! Please, let me say goodbye!”

Angelina shakes his head. His head hits the stupid plastic chair. White explodes across his vision and Cameron swallows back a sob. Angelina’s voice rises, but he can’t hear a single word she says. His knees hurt, his vision blurs from tears and pain, and he can’t draw in a full breath. Cameron stares at the hospital bed, blinking hard. Maybe he can see his master again. One more time.

Then Angelin’s fingers are no longer in his hair. Andrew holds her and Emmaleigh tightly, all three of them crying. Cameron huddles against the wall. He can’t breathe. His chest throbs with pain and no amount of crying lessens it. He curls up again and screams into his knees. Quiet. Patrick prefers–no, preferred. He’s gone now, remember, idiot?--to hear him scream. Loud and painful and Cameron rakes his nails across his skin in an effort to feel the shattering of his heart be mirrored across his skin.

The family slowly collects personal belongings. There’s not a lot. Patrick was sick suddenly. Cameron flinches. This is his fault. If he hadn’t insisted on going ice skating, then Patrick wouldn’t have gotten sick, and this wouldn’t have happened. His fault. His master died because he was a selfish, horrible Pet.

My master’s desires are my own. My master’s desires are my own. My master’s desires are my own. I am not my own. I belong to my master, I belong to my master, I belong to my master.

. . . who do I belong to?

“Get up, slut.”

Andrew grips his arm and hauls him to his feet. Cameron stumbles beside him, suddenly feeling far too cold in his crop top and tights. The nurses and other patients stare at him. For the first time in years, heat creeps up his cheeks and down his neck. He ducks his head and focuses only on the too-white tile under his feet.

It’s odd. Walking outside, hearing traffic, feeling the winter wind against his face, sunlight sparkling off the light dusting of snow that fell overnight–and knowing his master is dead.

Dead.

Cameron chokes on a sob. His master is dead. Gone. Truly gone.

“Shut up,” Andrew snaps. “I don’t know why you’re so weepy. You are nothing but a sidepiece and a bedwarmer. You never cared about him.”

I did! I loved him and he loved me and we were going to have forever! He was never, ever going to leave me!

The words stick in his throat and all Cameron can do is cry. He doesn’t stop, not even when he’s shoved into the backseat of Angelina’s car and told to stay quiet. Emmaleigh’s sobs cover the sound of his own.

We were supposed to have forever.

#cameron #patrick #hospital setting #character death #mourning #unhealthy relationship #pet whump #knife wounds #implied past violence #implied past noncon #begging #sexually degrading language #self-blame #food mention #grief

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ssa-atlas-alvez · 2 years

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Whumptober Day 14 (Aaron Hotchner & male reader)

No. 14 DIE A HERO OR LIVE LONG ENOUGH TO BECOME A VILLAIN

Desperate Measures | Failed escape | “I’ll be right behind you.”

Warnings: blood loss, blood, torture, hurt hotch, hurt reader, hospitals, surgery (mentions), kidnapping, knife, knife wounds

Word count: 3508

“You need to go get backup,”

You nod, uncertainty nipping at your stomach, “Are you sure?”

“(Y/N), we don’t have time for this,” Hotch says, “You need to go find a signal and call the others, we need back up.”

“I don’t think we should split up,”

“(Y/N), you need to go, now, we need back up,” You stare at him for a moment, not wanting to, until you nod once more.

“Okay,” You said, “Don’t do anything stupid,”

Hotch rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything, simply waits for you to turn your back and start making your way out of the house. You tried to remember the last place you had service. It was a few miles back. With a sigh, you opened the car and started the engine, stopping every few minutes to check your phone.

Something in your gut told you to turn around, that Hotch needed you but you pushed it aside. He had told you to go and find a signal. You gave a small sigh, raking your hand over your face for a moment.

You were the baby of the team, fresh out of the academy and desperate to prove yourself. And you had, the team were thoroughly impressed with your skills. You were detail-oriented, exhausted every lead when they came, eager to learn, and had good instincts. They all knew you were going to make an amazing profiler.

You give a cheer when you check your phone and there’s a signal. Quickly pulling over, you dial Rossi’s number.

“Everything okay?”

“We need backup,” You say, “Hotch is there alone, he sent me to get a signal, Atkins’ the unsub,”

“Alright kid, we’re on our way,”

“I need to get back to Hotch,” You answer, hearing Rossi about to protest, you cut him off, “I just have a bad feeling and need to make sure he’s still okay,”

You hear Rossi sigh, “Okay, we’ll be there as fast as possible,”

“I know,” You say before you hang up. You make a quick U-turn before driving back. You don’t stick to the speed limit, but you also don’t put the sirens on - you didn’t want Atkins to hear you coming.

It takes you five minutes to get there, but you can’t help but think it was five minutes too long. You draw your gun, following the same route you used to get out, hoping that Hotch hadn’t gone after Atkins alone. Your eyes widen and you rush forwards when you see Hotch, unconscious on the floor.

“Hotch-!” You cry out when something hits the back of your head, you fall to the floor but you’re still conscious. Holding your head you turn over, blinking as you do. Atkins stands tall, smirking at you.

“I was wondering when you would get back,” And with that, he leans down and slams your head into the floor, knocking you unconscious.

You woke up with a groan, blinking heavily as you took in your surroundings and the current situation the best you could. You’re not in the place you were before, it looks like an abandoned hospital but you can’t be sure, the walls are thick with dirt, the floor covered in mud and leaves, and the air smells stale. You look down, your hands are bound in front of you with zip ties. Hotch is in the same predicament except his are behind his back. He makes sure to keep his face calm, knowing that both you and the unsub are watching him. He doesn’t want you to worry and he doesn’t want the unsub to revel in the fact that he’s scared. “Are you alright?” He asks, you nod.

“Are you?” Aaron responds with a nod, holding back a smile when he sees you relax at this.

“The team will be here in no time,” He says. You take a breath, trying to put your anxiety to the side. Hotch was right. The team would be here in no time.

“He’s watching us, isn’t he?” You ask softly after a few minutes of silence.

“Yes,”

“Can he hear us too?”

“I think so,”

“Because that’s not creepy at all,” You muttered sarcastically, Hotch snorted in response.

When the unsub enters, you watch helplessly as he inflicts various wounds against Hotch, begging him to stop, to take his place. But the unsub just smirks and continues. Hotch tries to breathe through the pain, to pretend it isn’t there, he tries to keep his pain hidden from you. He doesn’t want you feeling responsible for it. But the occasional moan and groan make their way out and Hotch hates the way he hears your breath hitch every time. How your pleas get more and more frantic. How you try to divert the unsub’s attention to yourself.

There’s a pause in the noise whilst the unsub’s deciding what to do next, knife resting in his hand whilst he thought. And you realise something and almost face palm. He had underestimated your strength. He had assumed that Hotch would be able to break the zip ties and so placed his behind his back, but he had placed yours in front of you.

When he’s not looking, too caught up in deciding where to hurt Hotch, you look at the zip tie, the locking mechanism was at the front, which was good and they were on tight. Good. You take a breath before pulling your arms back as fast as you could - with as much strength as you could. The zip tie breaks, falling to the floor. Not giving the unsub a second to realise what has happened, you tackle him to the floor and you punch him, aiming for the jaw. He goes down but he’s still conscious. You rush forwards, grabbing the knife and jog towards Hotch to untie him, ignoring his protests. You fumble for a moment but then he’s released and you’re helping him up. He’s taken the brunt of Atkins’ rage. “You go ahead,” Hotch huffs.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” You reply instantly, “I’m not leaving you behind,”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Hotch says and you shake your head. “Go… Go!”

You huff before you start jogging, you knew you were going to end up pausing and waiting for Hotch sooner or later, but figured if it was further on that might give you somewhat of a headstart. You pause for breath and to wait for Hotch when you’ve made your way through a few hallways, opting to pause in a different (but identical looking) hall.

A few moments later, Hotch is hobbling around the corner. You take in his condition, he’s pale and clammy from blood loss, and all round just not looking his best. Acting on instinct, you jog towards him.

Wrapping his arm over your shoulder you help him through the door, beginning to weave in and out of the halls, trying to find your way out. “You go without me,” Hotch pants, “One of us needs to get help and I’m not going to be fast enough,”

“No, either both of us get out or none of us get out,” You say, shaking your head.

“(Y/N)-”

“No, Hotch, I’m not just leaving you here,”

“For either of us to have a chance at surviving, you need to go.” Hotch’s voice is stern and you know he’s right but you hate it. With a burning passion. You look at him, biting your lip.

“Hotch-”

“I’ll be fine,” He pressed, removing his arm from your shoulder. “You need to run and get help. I’ll just slow you down.”

“I’m coming back,” You say strongly, ignoring the tears that begin to pool in the corners of your eyes, “I promise, we’ll come get you.”

“I know,” Hotch said, patting your shoulder, seeing Atkins stumbling around the corner, he continued, “You need to run. Now. I’ll hold him back for as long as possible.”

“Please don’t get hurt,” You say before you start running. You have to force yourself not to look back, focusing on keeping your feet moving and what direction you need to go.

It takes a while, but you eventually make it out of the building, you pause for a moment to take in the building before you start running again. You focused on memorising the building as you ran and the streets you passed. You needed to be able to take the team back so you could save Hotch.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been running, but your feet hurt and you think they might be bleeding. You push through. Hotch was depending on you. You eventually reach a gas station and you run in.

“I need your phone, now!” The owner looks at you in concern but doesn’t question it, he just hands it to you. You punch in Garcia’s phone number, relieved when she picks up. “Garcia?!”

“(Y/N)?”

You nearly laugh in relief, “You need to track this phone, he’s still got Hotch, I managed to get away but you need to track it, I need the others, he’s got my weapon and-”

“(Y/N), it’s alright, I’ve got your location and I’m sending it to the team, they should be with you soon.” She said, "I've patched them through,"

“I need to get back to Hotch,”

“No, (Y/N) you can’t, not without backup,”

“I have to do something!” You exclaim. "He's still there, Garcia!"

"(Y/N)," Rossi’s the one that spoke now, "You can't do anything help Hotch right now."

"I can go back and do something!"

"We don't know the location," Rossi said, "We need you to stay where you are so that when we get there you can show us."

"What if he moves?"

"Then we'll find him,"

When the team arrive you feel like it’s been hours, they're glad to see you mostly unharmed. Your head shoots up when the doors open and you dart towards them. “Let’s go.” They share a concerned look but follow you into the cars. You’re sat in the front, with Morgan driving, giving him directions. And, within twenty minutes you’re there. You’re the first one out of the car, the others quick to follow.

You focus on the halls, not wanting to get it wrong, not when you were so close. Eventually it leads you to the room. When you see Hotch, your stomach drops. This was you, you did this. You should have stayed with him, or asked him to go get a signal, or just have done something so this didn’t happen.

Rossi and Spencer rush past you, straight to Hotch, Morgan and Emily are dealing with the unsub. JJ stands next to you, gently placing a hand on your arm. You want to shrug it off, you want to yell that you don’t deserve comfort for this, that you did this, that this was your fault, but the words just aren’t forming. So you stand, staring at Hotch as the EMT’s rush towards him. As they try their best to patch up the father of the group.

JJ lightly takes your hand in hers, “Come on, (Y/N),” She says, her voice is soft and warm and it brings tears to your eyes. You don’t deserve this. This was your fault.

When Hotch is in the ambulance, Rossi climbs in and the pair of them rush off to the hospital. You turn to Morgan, waiting for him to finish up talking to a police officer. You feel lost, not quite sure where to turn or who to go to. JJ and Emily are dealing with the unsub, Spencer’s filling in two police officers on what happened after you phone them, and Morgan is signing paperwork. You watch as Morgan puts the pen down before turning to you. “You okay?”

“I-” You start before pausing, “I’m fine,”

“Come on, let’s get to the hospital, see how Hotch is doing,” Morgan said, nudging you lightly with his elbow. You nod, following him to the car, you quietly sit in the front, wanting to sit close to Morgan, no one comments or complains, so you assume it’s fine.

You joined Rossi in the waiting room, immediately asking him if he’s heard anything. Rossi just shakes his head, “Sorry, kid, I haven’t heard anything yet,” He says, “They’ve taken him into surgery. He’s lost a lot of blood.”

You nod, immediately sitting down on one of the chairs. Only then does the team realise you aren't wearing shoes. Derek’s eyes widened, “Kid, why didn’t you tell us?”

“Tell you what?”

“That you hurt your feet and aren’t wearing shoes,” JJ answered.

“Wha-” You look down at your feet, “I didn’t realise.”

Spencer spots a small patch of dried blood on your hairline, almost undetectable, “Did you hit your head?”

You frown, hand coming up to your head, wincing when you prod at the wound. “I guess,” You shrug. Rossi sighs as JJ flags over a nurse.

“Our team member is injured and we didn’t realise,”

“To be fair, I didn’t realise either,” You add, not wanting the team to feel bad about it.

The nurse smiles, “Come with me and we’ll take a look,”

“I’m okay, really,” You say with a small smile.

“(Y/N)-”

“I’m fine,” You cut Emily off, “Honest,”

Derek groans, “How about this, you get checked out, I let you have my hoodie?” You nod as you stand up. That sounded like a fair deal. You pause, looking at Morgan until he gets the hint.

“Am I alright to come with?” He asks, the nurse nods and Morgan follows.

They tell you you’ve got a minor concussion and grazes on your feet. Nothing to be worried about, they disinfect the area before applying bandages (and giving you some socks and slippers) and telling you to make sure you don’t do any unnecessary activities.

And soon enough, you’re sitting next to Morgan, feeling comforted by the older man’s presence, feeling protected. He’s given you his hoodie. He had seen you shaking lightly and sticking close to him. He assumed (correctly) that you were reassured by his presence and thought this would be a way to help. He would have given you the hoodie anyway, but at least now you had been looked at.

It’s been hours and still no word from the nurses on his condition. You refused to leave the hospital, everyone’s tried at least twice to get you to go and get some sleep in the hotel but you shrug them off, telling them you’re fine, that you weren’t the one in the hospital bed. They had all sighed and nodded, reluctantly accepting your answer. Around the fourth hour mark, Emily stood up.

“JJ and I are going to head back to the station, wrap things up there,” Emily said, Rossi and Morgan nodded.

“I might head back to the hotel, actually, I need to shower,” Reid said.

“I’ll drive you,” Morgan said. And so, it was just you and Rossi.

Rossi sighs as he sits next to you, "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine," You answer, you shift awkwardly in the seat as you feel his eyes on you, profiling you.

"No you're not," He responds.

"Don't profile me," You snap.

“I’m not. I don’t need to. I know you well enough,” Rossi said, “What’s on your mind, kid?”

You hesitate, not wanting a member of the team to find out before you sigh (after seeing Rossi’s face), “He’s hurt because of me.” You answer, “The unsub wanted to hurt me. Hotch wouldn’t let it and it caused Hotch to get hurt,”

“No-”

“Don’t, I don’t want to hear it right now,” You mutter, Dave nods, now probably wasn’t the time anyway.

“Okay, but you need to sleep,” You shake your head, beginning to protest, “I don’t want to hear it. You need sleep,”

“I’m fine,”

“You should go back to the hotel with Derek and Spencer to get some rest.”

“How about this,” You begin, “I’ll sleep here, on that couch there, but you wake me up the second any news on Hotch gets in?”

Rossi looked at the couch for a moment before looking back at you, “Deal.”

And you make your way to the couch, laying down on it, you pull the sleeves down of Morgan’s hoodie, covering your hands with it as you get comfortable before allowing yourself to relax. Rossi watches your breathing even out within seconds and smiles to himself before sitting down in a chair opposite you (wanting to keep an eye on you) as he opens a book.

It’s been another hour when the nurse approaches him, "He's out of surgery," The nurse says, giving Rossi a small smile, "He's going to be sore for a while, and they'll most likely scar, but he'll make a full recovery,"

"Are we able to see him?" Rossi asked.

The nurse shakes his head, "He's unconscious at the moment, the doctor has asked that he doesn't have visitors until he has gained consciousness."

“Do you know when that might be?”

“Anything from thirty minutes to two hours time,” He said, “It really depends on the person,”

Rossi nods, "Thank you," The nurse gives him a smile before walking back to the nurses station.

Rossi turns to you with a sigh, gently shaking your shoulder. It takes you a moment, you rub the sleep from your eyes before you remember the situation and shoot up. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, he’s going to make a full recovery,” He said, seeing you about to answer a question, he continues, “He’s not awake yet, we aren’t able to see him until he’s awake which isn’t an exact science, as it turns out,”

You huff slightly but not, “Okay,” You said.

“Go back to sleep, kiddo,” Rossi chuckles.

“I’m not even tired,” You argued, yawning loudly as you spoke.

“Uh-huh,”

As you’re falling back asleep, Derek walks back into the waiting room, in a new set of clothes and looking a little better. “He doing okay?”

“Which one?”

Derek chuckles for a moment, “Both.”

“Aaron’s out of surgery, we can’t see him until he wakes up,” Rossi began, “And (Y/N) and I compromised into him sleeping on the couch,”

“How much sleep has he gotten?”

“Maybe an hour,” Morgan nods at the answer.

“Good,” He says, taking a seat next to Rossi. About an hour has passed and Derek’s managed to complete three levels of Candy Crush, when you stir, shifting in your sleep. “Morning sleeping beauty,” He jokes when your eyes open and settle on him.

You don’t respond, simply giving him the finger. “Play nice, children,” Rossi comments and you find yourself pouting.

“Where’s the toilets?”

Derek chuckles, “Come on, I’ll show you,”

You push yourself off the couch, following Derek’s directions. Rossi shakes his head, he felt like a single parent trying to look after seven kids - okay maybe one kid and six grandkids. Five minutes later, you and Derek are back and you head straight to the couch, curling up and falling back asleep.

It’s about half an hour later when a nurse approaches him, "He's awake and asking for you," Rossi looks to you, peacefully sleeping on the couch, debating waking you up.

“Go see Hotch,” Morgan said, “I’ll keep an eye on the kid,” Rossi nods, following the nurse to Hotch’s room.

Hotch looks rough, and Rossi means that with all the love in the world. But he looks like crap. “How are you doing?”

Rossi raises his hands in surrender at the deadpan look Hotch sends him. “Where’s (Y/N)?” Hotch groans, raising a hand to his forehead.

“Outside, asleep on the couch, Morgan’s with him,” Aaron nods, good you were okay. “The kid’s been worried sick about you - refused to go to the hotel, the couch was a compromise,”

“He’s okay?”

“He’s alright,” Rossi said with a nod, “His feet are grazed, but he’s okay other than that. He didn’t want to get check out - Morgan have him his hoodie as a bribe,”

Aaron huffed a laugh, that sounded about right.

“Hotch!” Hotch looks up, seeing you and he gives you a small smile. “How are you feeling? You’ve got pain meds, right? If you haven't, I want to know why not. Are you in any pain?”

Hotch looks at you, blinking, “I’m fine and yes, I’m on medication,” You nod, relaxing. Seeing that something is clearly on your mind, he looks at Dave - who makes up an excuse that he’s off to get coffee. When the door’s closed, he looks to you, “What’s wrong?”

“What? Nothing,”

“(Y/N).”

“It’s my fault you're hurt,” You answer, “And I feel guilty that you protected me and that you got hurt, and that I had to leave you, and that that meant you were alone.”

“(Y/N), none of those things are your fault,” You keep your eyes trained on your hand.

“I’m still sorry,”

“I know, but this is me telling you there’s no reason to be.”

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ghostflowerdreams · 1 year

Text

Writing Research - Knife

The purpose of this research post is to be helpful, more importantly educational. I certainly don’t condone the use of this knowledge for malevolent reasons. I want to help writers with their stories and I figured this would make their search for such information easier.

This is great for the stories that take place in ancient times, apocalyptic setting, and/or contain characters that are blacksmiths, bladesmiths, survivalist, etc. This information would help to make them believable. For example, what if they are teaching another character how to make a knife? Or how to defend against an attacker with a knife? Or how to treat a knife wound?

This post is meant to make a writer’s life a little easier by giving them a starting point. It doesn’t contain EVERY information about knives, but if you know what you’re looking for than I encourage you to look it up.

How To Make A Knife

WikiHow - How to Make a Knife

Mother Earth News - How to Make a Hunting Knife

Mother Earth News - How to Design and Build a Knife

The Crucible - 9 Steps to Forging a Knife: Everything You Need to Know

Begin To Blacksmith - Beginners Guide to Forging a Survival Knife | Blacksmithing Basics

Internet Archive - The art of blacksmithing by Alex Bealer

Reddit: Blacksmithing - Writer, not a blacksmith. I need to know how long it takes to learn basic blacksmithing and how much iron is needed to equip a smithy.

Krudo Knives - How to Build Your Own Forge | DIY Knife Forge Tips & Advice

Reddit: History - How long did it take to forge weapons back in colonial times? Or even swords in the medieval age?

Survival Mastery - How to Make A Knife: DIY Instructions on 3 Different Types of Knives

Reddit: History - How did people sharpen knives in ancient and medieval periods?

Brown County Forge - How to Make a Bushcraft Knife

DIY Blacksmithing - Make Your Own Bushcraft Knife

Sensible Survival - How to Make a Primitive Stone Flake Knife

Youtube - Wannabe Bushcrafter: Primitive Slate Knife (video)

Bushcraft Days - How To…. Make and Use a Simple Flint Knife

Primitive Ways - Hoko Knife

Alderleaf Wilderness College - Knife Making Course

Alderleaf Wilderness College - Survival Stone Tools Class

Gone Outdoors - How to Make a Knife in the Wild

Reddit: Blacksmithing - Update report: First knife using DIY soup can forge

Youtube - Neels Van Den Berg: Forging a Knife - Full Process Explained in detail (video)

Outdoor Life Magazine - Survival Skills: How to Make Knives from Rocks

Popular Mechanics - How to Make a Survival Knife Out of Stuff You Already Have in Your Garage

Youtube - Korea's best handmade knife master. Knife making process (video)

Modern Survival - How to Make a Primitive Bone Knife

Bushcraft Days - How To….Primitive Skills – Bone Knife/Bodkin

OffTheGridNews - How To Make A Survival Knife You’ll Brag About For Years (Part 1)

OffTheGridNews - How To Make A Survival Knife You’ll Brag About For Years (Part 2)

Instructables - How to Make a Knife

Instructables - Making a Survival Knife Out of a 16'' Saw Blade

Survival Sullivan - How to Make Your Own Knife

Mother Earth News - From File To Knife: Make a Bushcraft Knife Using Simple Tools

Youtube - Primitive Life: Make knife from iron (video)

Mother Earth News - The Make-It-Yourself Copperhead Survival Knife

Art of Manliness - How to Make a Knife from an Old Saw Blade

Survival After End - How to Make a Knife in the Wild (Build Stone Blade for Survival Situation)

Reddit: DIY - The "dirt cheap" (literally) guide to forging a knife

Reddit: DIY - Full process of making a knife from scratch

Reddit: I Want To Learn - IWTL how to make a knife by hand

Youtube - Hunt Primitive: How to Make and Use a Stone Knife (video)

Survivopedia - Survival Weapons: DIY Knives For Off-Grid Survival

Archaeology Southwest - Hands-On Archaeology: How to Haft a Stone Knife, Dart Point, or Arrow Point

WikiHow - How to Make a Knife Sheath

Art of Manliness - How to Make a Sheath for a Knife (Or Anything Else)

Craftsman Ave. - Forge a Survival Knife (Introduction to Knifesmithing)

Youtube - Making a Primitive Elk Bone Knife (video)

Primitive Ways - A Cutting Edge: Creating a Steel Blade in a Primitive Setting

Primitive Ways - Making a Leather Knife Sheath

Primitive Ways - Deer Hide Knife Sheath

Survival Resources - Making A Leather Knife Sheath

Sensible Survival - Make a Rawhide Knife Sheath – Part 1

Mother Earth News - Birch Bark Knife Sheath

Primitive Ways - Antler Handle Knife

Gone Outdoors - How to Make a Knife Handle Out of Deer Bones

Alderleaf Wilderness College - How to Sharpen a Knife

WikiHow - 3 Ways to Sharpen a Knife

Mother Earth News - How to Sharpen a Knife

Gone Outdoors - How to Use a Brick to Sharpen a Knife

How To Use A Knife

WikiHow - How to Become Good at Knife Fighting

WikiHow - How to Defend Against a Knife Attack

Survival Junkies - How to Use a Knife for Self-Defense | Knife Handling Guide

Youtube - USCCA (U.S. Concealed Carry Association): Basic Knife-Fighting Techniques: Into the Fray Episode 168 (video)

Black Belt Magazine - What You Need to Know to Realistically Use and Defend Against a Blade

Writer’s Digest - FightWrite™: Knife Fights, Part 1

Writer’s Digest - FightWrite™: Knife Fights, Part 2

Recoil Magazine - Solitary Knife Fighting

Urban Fit & Fearless - Self-defence against knife attacks: evidence-based approach, part 1

Urban Fit & Fearless - Self-defence against knife attacks: surviving a knife attack , part 2

Outdoor Life Magazine - 8 Different Ways to use a Survival Knife in an Emergency

Popular Science - Eight survival knife skills you might need in an emergency

Field & Stream - 8 Ways to Use a Bushcraft Knife to Survive in the Wild

Gone Outdoors - How to Hunt Deer With a Knife

Youtube - Hunt Primitive: Skinning a Deer with a Stone Knife (video)

Instructables - How to Split Firewood...With a Knife

Art of Manliness - 5 Critical Knife Skills for the Outdoorsman

Off Grid World - Top 10 Uses For A Survival Knife

Gear Junkie - How To Make Firewood With A Survival Knife

Backpacker Magazine - Survival: In The Wild with…Only a Knife

The American Mountain Men - A Basic Manual on Knife Throwing by J. B. Wood

How To Treat A Knife Wound

Reddit: Ask Reddit - What does it feel like to be stabbed?

The Crime Fiction Writer's Blog - Stab Wounds Don’t Always Kill

Redwood’s Medical Edge - Author Question: Surviving Stab Wounds to the Abdomen

Reddit: Writing - Dramatic, but non-lethal places to get stabbed/shot?

Reddit: Ask Paramedics - Writer looking for advice, stab wound first aid.

Scout Life Magazine - How to treat a knife cut

Primal Survivor - How to Treat a Knife Wound When You Can’t Call 911

Scouting Magazine - How to bandage an accidental pocketknife wound

First Aid For Life - How to help someone who has been stabbed or is seriously bleeding

The Survival Doctor - How to Treat a Wound in a Survival Situation

Backpacker Magazine - Treat Deep Wounds

Western Hunter - Knife Safety and Emergency Wound Care

Recoil OffGrid Magazine - Plug ‘Em Up: Puncture Wound First Aid

WikiHow - How to Attend to a Stab Wound

SHTFandGO - Simple Emergency First-Aid: How to Treat a Stab Wound

Youtube - AmericanSafetyEMT: Knife Wound First Aid (video)

Worst-Case Scenario - How To Treat A Knife Wound

The Prepared - How to clean a wound

Art of Manliness - How to Treat an Impalement Wound

Survivalist Prepper - Prepper First Aid: Trauma and Large SHTF Injuries (audio)

Reddit: Ask Historian - How likely was a Roman soldier to survive being wounded in battle?

Reddit: Writer’s Research - Could a person in the middle ages survive being stabbed in the neck?

#writing #writing help #writing reference #knife #knives #writing research #writing references #bladesmithing #blacksmithing #how to #how to make a knife #knife fighting #knife wounds #survival knife

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kuebiko-kei · 2 years

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Barbara Gordon & Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain & Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain, Barbara Gordon, Joker (DCU) Additional Tags: Torture, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Tim Drake's Missing Spleen, Mild Suicidal Ideation Summary:

"G-go, thr's a bomb," Tim mumbled through his crimson-sticky mouth and closed his eyes as Jason held his face. He didn't want to die alone, but he equally didn't want someone to die with him. "I saw it on the way in." Jason snorted, then empathetic pity took over, "I'm sorry." It wasn't fair. "Go. You'll die." Tim cringed, trying to pull away and emphasise the urgency to his older brother. "It's not my first time." "What..." Twenty seconds left. "Don't look so sad, Replacement. Now, shut up."

whumptober 2022

day 3 - hair's breadth from death

gun to temple I "say goodbye" I impaled

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echoing--stars · 2 years

Text

Whumptober Day 25 Alt: Stabbed

Paloma asked for it, Rock enabled it. But I only have myself to blame. 😔

Pre-LU Warriors, hence 'Link'

CWs: Blood, knife wounds

It happened too fast for Link to even comprehend. There was a masked figure running away, pushing people out of their path. Someone called out, but Link missed the words. Because Rowan’s breath hitched and his hold on Link’s hand loosened. And then Rowan fell to his knees without a sound. Link let himself fall with Rowan, still clasping his hand.

“Rowan?”

He didn’t answer. Link dropped his hand and moved in front of Rowan. He gasped at the sight of a long, deep gash across his chest. And a dagger stuck in his right forearm. Rowan’s eyes were wide, pupils blown out. In pain, or fear, or shock, Link didn’t know.

Link’s heart skipped a beat. He hesitated, hands hovering between them. Rowan reached for the dagger with his left hand, but Link took the hand in his so he wouldn’t pull out the dagger. “Rowan, I know it hurts, but we have to leave it in until we can get you help, okay?”

Rowan’s mouth opened, but no words came out. There was blood covering his arm and soaking his shirt. Link cursed and wrapped his arms around Rowan’s shoulders to help him lay down.

His heart pounded. He couldn’t breathe. They’d attacked Rowan.

#whumptober2022 #no.25 #alt prompt #stabbed #linked universe #fanfic #blood #knife wounds #lu warriors #rowanverse #OC Rowan #worm writes

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prodigal-explorer · 10 months

Text

evening star - sanders sides fanfiction - iv

(let me know if you want to be on the tag list!)

previous part | next part

word count: 2.6k

(cw -> broken bones, blood, implied ptsd, resetting a dislocated joint, knife wounds, muzzles, collars, begging, dehumanization, infected wounds, needles, medical stitches)

summary: janus and remus discover what's been happening to roman, and as they fix him up as well as they can, roman starts to panic. the idea of having more people owning him is paralyzing, and it's all roman can think about while he's at the mercy of the "dark sides".

---

The living room had a dim feel to it, but it wasn’t scary. Roman wasn’t sure what he had expected the dark mindscape to look like, but it certainly was not this.

It just looked like a normal living room. No cobwebs, no torture devices. It even smelled like someone had just finished baking bread. The couch was large, and a homey dark brown. It looked even more comfortable than the couch in the light mindscape. There was a fireplace too, though it was off. But the room was already so warm that Roman didn’t think a fire was necessary anyway.

“Here, sit,” Janus said without a moment of hesitation, leading Roman to the couch. “I need to look at that arm, it looks broken.”

Roman sat down and winced as he noticed the still-wet blood staining the couch where he leaned against it. His face burned with dread as Janus’ eyes wandered towards the stain, and Roman had a feeling that this false kindness, this game that Janus was playing, would be over very soon.

“Oh my gosh…” Janus mumbled, his eyes widening.

He reached a hand out towards Roman, and violently, Roman flinched back, his eyes squeezing shut as he braced his body for punishment.

But none came.

Janus put a hand on Roman’s uninjured shoulder, gently turning him around so his back was facing Janus. With the utmost care and tenderness, Janus lifted the red t-shirt Roman had been wearing, and his stomach twisted in horror when he saw what had caused such a bloodstain on his couch: a large gash down Roman’s back, clearly created by a knife. It was haphazard, deeper at some points than others. And judging by the graying skin and the sickly yellow liquid leaking out of the wound, Janus had a feeling that it was badly infected.

“Roman, little one, who did this to you?”

Roman averted his gaze, and when Janus questioned his silence, he realized that Roman still had that dreadful thing on his mouth. A dark black contraption, made with a strange amalgamation of metal and plastic. A bit that was pressed so far into Roman’s mouth that it was a wonder he could even make a sound at all. Immediately, Janus unclipped the device, relieved at how easy it was to do. Roman coughed as he was released, a wet, hacking cough.

“I’m sorry,” Roman whispered, his voice hoarse.

Janus’ heart sunk to the floor. This was a huge red flag. Roman hardly ever apologized, and for him to apologize unprompted was simply unheard of.

“I’m sorry,” Roman repeated, the words hitting with more urgency and desperation, as more tumbled out of his mouth. “I’m sorry, please let me go, please don’t tell them you did this! Don’t tell them you saw me! I’ll do anything, I’ll do anything for you! Anything! Please, just leave me alone! Please! Please…”

His begging slowly transitioned into a primal, animalistic whine. Roman looked to be so overtaken by panic, his mind clouded over with fear and the possibility of being hurt again. Janus didn’t know what to do, but he couldn’t stand the sight of Roman like this.

“My dear prince,” Janus murmured, taking Roman in his arms, and trying to give him the gentlest of hugs that was possible to provide. “You don’t have to do anything for me, alright? Calm yourself…please, calm yourself. I’m here. I’m going to help you. We’re going to try and clean up your back. Okay? And then, we’re going to work on that arm, get it feeling a little better. I don’t have all this stuff just laying around, so I’m going to need you to summon for me. Can you do that?”

Eyes widening, Roman shook his head, partly in disbelief, and partly in fear. He couldn’t summon. That was strictly forbidden. Summoning was the reason why he had that gash in his back. It was the reason why he had this muzzle. He had been forced to summon it as a lesson: summoning was bad. Summoning would only hurt Roman in the end.

“I can’t,” he wheezed, “I’m sorry, I can’t- I can’t- break the rules. I won’t, I’m a good boy. I’m good. I’m not going to break the rules, see? I’ll be good. I’ll be the best puppy you’ve ever had, I promise.”

He wore a terrifying smile that made Janus’ insides crawl. The tears shining in his eyes, the way he trembled and shook. The disgusting words coming out of his mouth. Janus felt like he was in a hazy, dizzying nightmare. Like he would wake up gasping and sweating any second.

But he didn’t.

This was real, whether he liked it or not.

“It’s okay, little one,” Janus whispered, unable to speak any louder out of pure shock. “It’s okay. Please don’t cry. Please don’t fret. I won’t make you summon if you can’t. I’ll go ask Remus for what I need. I’m going to have to leave you here for a moment, okay? Just for a moment while I get the things I need.”

Roman went completely silent.

“Is that okay?”

No response.

Janus sighed, and approached Roman, lifting his chin ever so gently with his finger to try and make eye contact to assure himself that it would be okay leaving Roman alone. But when he did, he saw that Roman’s eyes were closed. And he was barely breathing.

Janus’ breath caught in his throat, and his heart felt like it was going to explode.

“Shit,” he whispered, “Shit, shit, I- I- Remus! Remus! I need you, Remus!”

Janus’ cries were desperate, pleading. He didn’t want it to come to this. Considering how panicked Roman looked when Janus discovered him, Janus imagined that the idea of Remus finding out about this would make the poor prince have a heart attack.

But Remus was difficult to locate. Janus didn’t have time to go searching for him, and he had no idea how severe Roman’s condition was now. All Janus knew was that he couldn’t lose Roman. He just couldn’t. The dear little prince who he had a soft spot for, the lovely man who always knew how to put a smile on Janus’ face. This couldn’t happen.

Thankfully, Remus rose up into the room in response to Janus’ cries. It wasn’t normal at all for Janus to act this way, hysterical and wound up. Usually, Janus was very calm under pressure. But this was too much for anybody to bear.

“I need- I need!-” Janus gasped for air, trying to gain control over his panicking body. “I need gauze, medical stitching, antibiotics for wound infection, a sling, a splint- what are you doing?? Hurry! I need- I need them. Now. I need- water, I need food- don’t just stand there!”

Remus had been staring at Roman for the entirety of Janus’ hurried speech. But Janus’ demand spurred him into action, his eyes still glued onto his brother as he summoned each item with lightning speed, the objects crashing to the ground haphazardly.

“What the fuck happened to him??” Remus demanded when all the objects were on the ground, and Janus was scrambling to pick them up and get to work. “Fuck- this is all my fault, I knew something was wrong, and I still didn’t- what the fuck is going on- what happened??”

“I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”

Janus was trying to get a hold of himself. He couldn’t stitch Roman up if his hands were shaking. He cleared away the yellow liquid, used antibiotic ointment, and sterilized the needle before going in, praying to whatever was up there that Roman was too out of it to feel the pain.

In, out. In, out. Moving up Roman’s back, Janus repeated the motion, creating neat little stitches. He tried to be careful with Roman’s delicate body, his beautiful skin dark from sun, but littered with countless cuts and bruises. When he was finished, he tied off the stitches and got to work on bandaging up the other cuts, and then splinting Roman’s arm. It was hard to tell exactly where the break was, but Janus assumed it was around Roman’s elbow, considering how his arm hung limply. After tightly tying the splint to Roman’s arm, he bandaged up the arm and set the sling around Roman.

And now was the hard part: resetting Roman’s shoulder.

It was so far out of Roman’s socket that looking at it made Janus feel sick. But he couldn’t let his weakness prevent Roman from getting the treatment he needed. Remus was frozen still as he watched the procedure, unable to tear his gaze away from Roman’s face, strangely peaceful in his unconscious state. It was a stark contrast to the extreme panic he had been exhibiting before, but Janus was too worried to be relieved. He pushed Roman’s shoulder upwards, trying hard to be gentle and effective at the same time. In circles, he pushed, and in linear motions he pushed, and in horizontal motions he pushed. He pushed and pushed, until finally, Roman’s shoulder popped back into place with a dizzying noise, and Roman startled awake from the pain.

“What…?” he whispered, clearly disoriented. “What’s going…”

He wasn’t even able to finish his question before his eyes fluttered closed again. Remus slunk out of the room. Not only did he not want to set off Roman even more with his presence, but he also had some…research to do.

Janus was alone with Roman again. Holding the man in his lap, Janus cradled him back and forth, being sure to keep all pressure off Roman’s injuries. Patiently, he waited for Roman to wake up, hoping that he would do so before the food got cold and the water got stale.

It looked like Roman hadn’t eaten in days. His muscles twitched with fatigue, and his eyes were clouded over and vacant. His ribs were showing, and he had deep-set, purple bags under his eyes. The Roman Janus knew would never tolerate such imperfections. But this wasn’t the Roman Janus knew. Not anymore.

Gently, Janus continued to cradle Roman. Though Roman was taller than him, Janus found it easy to hold the man in such a way. It was as if it came naturally to care for the creative side. A song parted from Janus’ lips, quiet and lulling. A song that he and Roman knew very well.

“Ou mata e matagi…” (Your eyes so full of wonder…)

Roman stirred slightly in Janus’ arms.

“Ou loto mamaiana toa…” (Your heart an innocent warrior…)

Janus smiled fondly, and he couldn’t stop the hope that rose in his chest.

“Manatu atu…taku pelepele…” (There’s a task for you…our dearest one…)

Roman’s eyes slowly opened, and adjusted once again to the dim but comforting light of the dark sides’ living room.

“You’re singing the Moana song,” he whispered dreamily, as if he was still partly asleep. “The Moana song…I love the Moana song…”

“Do you want to finish it, my dear?” Janus asked, his voice a loving mumble.

For a long, comfortable moment, the room was silent, except for the rising and falling of Roman and Janus’ breathing, practically in sync.

“Pa mai to mafanafanaga…” (Let it flow over you…)

Roman’s voice was dry and cracked, but Janus’ eyes filled with tears regardless.

“Saolotoga tenei…” (This freedom you feel…)

His breathing hitched, and gently, Janus guided him through the next words. The two sang together, their voices quiet as a breeze blowing through trees.

“Manatunatu…ki tamafine..”

Roman opened his mouth to keep singing, but instead of words, a terrible coughing fit wracked through Roman’s body, rendering him breathless.

“Oh, dear…” Janus mumbled. “You might be really sick. Here. Drink this, and take this pill with it. It’s an antibiotic, for…your back.”

Numbly, Roman did as he was told without a second thought. He seemed used to this, following commands to the letter. He drank from the glass of water like he had been stuck in a drought for days, and he didn’t stop until it was empty. Blinking, he stared down at the sling, noticing that it limited his arm movement. In his exhausted, drugged-up state, Roman didn’t put the pieces together right away. He assumed this was some kind of restraint to keep him from leaving. He tugged at it, trying to move his arm and figure out what it was, but quickly, Janus held Roman’s arm and kept it in place firmly.

“Don’t do that, please,” he said, his words spilling over each other in worry. “You might risk damaging it even more. It’s…a sling. See? It’s to keep your arm from moving so the bone can heal.”

“Oh.” Roman relaxed, not moving his arm anymore. “I’m sorry.”

His voice sounded just as numb as he looked, and his tone was almost robotic. Like he was reading from a script without any sort of emotion. He just looked disoriented and confused, like a child lost in a grocery store. Janus just wanted to protect him from everything. He knew that if the roles were reversed, Roman would stop at nothing to make sure that a fellow side was safe and taken care of, preening about how it was his princely duty to assure the wellbeing of every side. Even when they fought and squabbled, Janus could still sense the unflinching respect and admiration that Roman felt towards him. The poor thing made his feelings grotesquely obvious at every given moment he had them. But Janus didn’t mind. It only deepened his own love towards Roman.

After all, love comes in many different forms.

“Don’t apologize, lovely,” Janus reminded. “This isn’t your fault.”

Silence hung over the room like a thick blanket. Janus was relaxed, but the stiffness made Roman uncomfortable.

“I don’t understand,” he finally said, starting to sound just a little more like himself. “Why are you doing this? Why are you…erasing all their progress? Aren’t you worried they’ll get mad? Aren’t you mad at me?”

“Roman, I have no reason to be mad at you,” Janus said, opting to use the side’s real name instead of a pet name. “Why would I get mad at you for getting hurt? There’s no point in that. You need help. I want to help you, I don’t want to see you hurting.”

Roman winced. Anger bubbled in Janus’ chest.

“Who are you talking about?” he whispered. “Who’s they? Who did this to you, Roman? Who made you think that you- that you deserve this?”

Roman’s gaze went vacant once again, and Janus wanted to smack himself for causing Roman to retreat further back into the corners of his mind.

“I’ll be good,” the creative side whispered. “I’ll be good, I’ll be so good. I’ll follow all the rules. I’ll never make a mistake. I’ll do everything you ask me to, I’ll take any punishment you have for me. I promise. I promise.”

“Roman, what do you want from me?” Janus asked softly, tilting Roman’s chin upwards to initiate eye contact. “What do you want me to give you in exchange for…all this you’re offering?”

Janus just didn’t understand. Usually, he was very adept with deals and bargaining and the like. But Roman’s words were scattered, as if he were drunken and rambling.

“For you not to join them,” Roman said immediately. “Please, please don’t join them. You can take me, you can use me for whatever you want. I’ll do anything you ask, I’ll be a puppy, I’ll be a servant, I’ll be anything. I’ll do whatever you ask. I’ll go back to them, and I’ll not say a word about you if that’s what you want. Just- please- don’t tell them you know. Don’t join them. I can’t have three. I can’t.”

“Three what, darling?” Janus asked, his heart sinking to the floor.

Roman sniffled, and it was then that Janus realized the creative side was crying. Genuinely crying, not creating tears for an audience. He gasped and swallowed a sob as he answered Janus’ question.

“Three owners.”

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tildeathiwillwrite · 16 days

Text

Reese vs Natali: Duel to the Death (Magican's Bait, Part 5)

WoW Birthday Whump Day 12: Magic Exhaustion / Collapsed / "So tired..."

Whumpril Day 4 (Swaying) Day 9 (Self-doubt), Day 26 (“How could you?”)

WoW Birthday Event Prompts List

Whumpril Prompts List

Tales from Valaria Masterpost

first part | <- previous part | next part (coming soon) ->

TW: duel, knife wounds, magic whump, death, blood, blood loss, dizziness, collapse, fainting

Context: Reese duels Natali. The Stalker may have runes on her side, but Reese has a hidden ace up her sleeve that might win her the day. But at what cost?

Reese didn’t give Natali time to react to the—admittedly very shocking—news that she was not, in fact, Caiya Ebony. She closed the distance between them in three leaping strides and went on the offensive, going for the Stalker’s throat.

Natali ducked backward, her self-satisfied expression wiped from her face. She fumbled with her knives and barely managed to draw one before Reese drove her own blade into Natali’s shoulder.

She screamed in pain and fury, weapon falling from numb fingers as the injured arm went limp. Her other hand went for the second knife, and she swung out, trying to catch Reese in the side.

Reese yanked out her knife and twisted away. Natali’s blade sliced through the fabric of her jacket and left a shallow scratch, but it was better than the alternative. Reese hissed out through her teeth and retreated, allowing the Stalker to make the next move.

Blood streamed down Natali’s arm, and her eyes burned with rage. “You’ll regret that, child,” she hissed. Before Reese could react, the Stalker spoke a rune.

The wind stirred around Reese, lightly toying with her hair, but nothing else happened. Reese grinned at Natali’s shocked expression. “Was that supposed to impress me? You’re gonna have to try harder than that!”

“How?!” The Stalker screeched, repeating the rune as Reese charged at her again. She retreated, going on the defensive as Reese chased her around the room.

Reese didn’t have the energy to spare for an answer. She lunged, knife point intent on Natali’s heart, but Natali knocked aside the blade. Natali tried to counterattack, but Reese blocked the thrust and used her free hand to grab Natali’s wrist.

The Stalker’s eyes were filled with pain, fear, and desperation. She spoke another rune, one Reese recognized all too well. The familiar weight settled on Reese’s chest, and she faltered, struggling to breathe. Natali seized the opportunity and kicked Reese in the stomach with rune-enhanced strength.

The force of the kick threw Reese halfway across the room. Time seemed to briefly slow as the ground came up to meet her. The impact sent fireworks through Reese’s shoulder and back, and she rolled another few meters before stopping. Her knife clattered to the ground, out of reach.

Natali staggered across the room, swaying from blood loss or rune exhaustion. Possibly both. Reese pulled herself to her feet and raised her fists. The closeness of the pit where she’d accidentally tossed Caiya’s cowl unnerved her, and the hairs on her neck prickled.

Natali still had her dagger, but she was wounded. Even hand-to-hand, Reese had the upper hand. Didn’t she?

“I don’t know the extent of your protection, little magician,” Natali hissed, knife raised. She was only a few steps away now. “You may have put up a good fight. But you’re finished, now. Yield, and I’ll let the prince go.”

“Liar,” Reese spat, “and you’re right. You don’t know the extent of my protection. But you’re also wrong. I’m no magician.”

With those words, Reese lunged, ducking under Natali’s swing and diving for her legs, tackling the Stalker to the ground. Pain erupted in her lower back, causing her to cry out, but Reese pressed on, punching Natali in the throat.

Natali gagged and let go of the knife. Reese didn’t hesitate, yanking the weapon out of her back and driving it in between the Stalker’s ribs into her heart. Natali’s eyes widened in shock, and she sagged. Reese didn’t release her hold on the knife until her breathing slowed… slowed… stopped.

Reese exhaled shakily and rose to her feet, retrieving her own knife from the ground. She left Natali’s knife where it was. Head swimming, she staggered across the room to the prince, who stared mutely at the Stalker’s corpse. Reese sliced through his bonds, a simple matter with the rune-engraved knife, and pulled him to his feet. He wobbled on legs weakened during his imprisonment, and they supported each other as they crossed the room to the tunnel where she’d entered.

“How…” Damian whispered when they entered the tunnel, “how could you? How could you resist her runes?”

“It’s simple, really,” Reese muttered, trying to ignore how the floor pitched and heaved beneath their unsteady feet. “I’m a Draigo.”

Damian froze midstep, and Reese nearly tripped over his feet. “A Draigo?! But I thought they were all—”

“Not all of them, your Highness. Just most of them.” She tugged his arm, and he started walking—or, more accurately, lurching—down the tunnel again.

“...so that’s why you’re here,” he mused, “instead of Caiya Ebony.”

“Caiya Ebony is a coward. I’m here because a friend asked me to.” Each step was like another knife in the wound in her back. Was she supporting Damian, or was Damian supporting her? They needed to get out of here.

“Ah.” Silence stretched between them for several steps before the prince spoke again. “Was it the Watcher?”

Reese nodded wordlessly. Was the tunnel getting darker?

“You said your name was Reese Takari, right? Like the diplomat?”

“I’m…” Reese mumbled, “I’m his daughter…. We should be… getting… close….”

Damian paused, concern evident. “Are you alright? Reese?”

The tunnel seemed to blur, and a strange numbness settled over her, like when her limbs fell asleep after sitting on them for too long. She didn’t have time to respond before her legs buckled under her weight.

But she didn’t hit the floor. “Reese? Reese!”

Damian’s voice sounded far away like he was at the other end of the tunnel. Reese wanted to respond, but darkness flooded over her, sending her into the depths of oblivion.

@fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @whumpril

(if you want to be tagged in my writing please lmk!)

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flowersarefreetherapy · 2 years

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Can’t Have Mistakes

(So . . . Bungo Stray Dogs is the new special interest. . . Enjoy the random fixation fueled mess??)

CW: blood, knife wounds, suicidal intentions, thoughts of suicide, abuse of power, creepy whumper

“A mistake.”

“Yes, boss.”

Metal scrapes against metal. The filing drawer opens, light flashes off a thin blade. “You know I can’t have mistakes.”

“Yes, boss.”

He doesn’t apologize. There would be nothing to be gained by doing so. He stands in the middle of the dingy room, hands at his sides, coat hanging heavily off his shoulders. Sunlight fights to break through the layers of grime covering the windows. Dust floats through the air.

The chair shrieks as it turns. A smile sharp as the scalpel held to the doctor’s face. He points the tip of the weapon to a chair.

“Sit down, Dazai.”

Silent footsteps carry him to the chair. Dust poofs into the air as he sits, clenching the faded cushion as the doctor stands, lab coat brushing against his sides as he walks over. There is no hurry. They have performed this dance far too many times.

He sighs as he rolls back his left sleeve, folding the too-large shirt up to his elbow. The doctor’s thin, cold fingers close around his wrist, holding his arm in place. The scalpel’s point presses into the dip of his elbow, applying the first promise of pain.

A single, practiced slice. He flinches as cool air rushes over his skin. The bandages flutter to the floor, patterned with rusty stripes like a tiger’s back.

“How many operatives were lost?”

He doesn’t answer, turns his gaze to the cold floor. The slap is expected. It still brings tears to his eyes.

“How many operatives? I will not repeat myself again.”

“. . . seven.”

“Seven of my best men.” The light hits his eyes at an odd angle, turning the dark irises into an unnatural shade of purple. “Your mistake cost me seven of my best men.”

“We were given faulty information! There is no way I could have known-”

He throws his head back with a sharp cry. The scalpel cuts through flesh and muscle with ease, carving a path across the inside of his elbow joint. Blood runs down his elbow, drips to the floor. He digs his head into the back of the chair, biting his lip to hold back a scream.

“You will always know,” the doctor whispers in his ear. His thumb rubs small circles on his wrist in an almost comforting pattern. “You must know. Excuses and mistakes are not tolerated. If you cannot predict and plan for every outcome, then you are no longer of use to me.”

Go ahead then. Kill me. The long familiar threat rests easily on his tongue. He’s asked for death several times now, often going out of his way to do so. But this time, he doesn’t. Maybe he cannot yet predict a battle, but he knows humanity and he knows what the answer will be.

“There will be no death.” A script they both know by heart now. “You still have use for me, regardless of your dreams otherwise. But I believe a reminder is needed.”

Another line drawn across scarred skin. He clenches his other fist, sucking in deep breaths through his nose. Tears well in his eyes. He blinks rapidly to hold them back. This one cuts neatly across his forearm. He knows the exact position and how long it is, how deep, how much it will bleed and throb late into the night. Never bad enough to need stitches.

The next cut is shallower, but nearly encircles his wrist. He chokes and a tear slides down his face.

“Shh,” the doctor breathes, pushing back his hair from his face. “You know better than that. This is your fault. Your mistakes have to be paid for, otherwise there is no place for you.”

“I’m-I’m sorry, boss,” he whispers, meeting the doctor’s gaze. There is no pity or compassion to be seen, just a mirth that sends chills down his spine.

“I know you are, Dazai. Which is why I am so disappointed in you. I know you can do better, so why do you insist on being so stupid all the time?”

He tips his head back, closing his eyes with a sob. Cool fingers slide down the side of his face, wrapping around his throat and gently pinning him in place. There is no fear in the contact. After all, what is there to nullify? The scalpel and the pain have nothing to do with the doctor’s ability. Using his own would only lead to exertion.

The fourth, fifth, and sixth cuts are made in relative succession. They fade into the phantom pain he always remembers, blood pouring red over the white scars from all the times before. With a hum, the doctor traces the scalpel down the length of his arm, but doesn’t break skin.

“Take this off,” he orders, tapping the bandage on his cheek.

“M-”

“If I have to repeat myself, then I will see whether you are of use to me without your eyes.”

He whimpers, but reaches up with shaking hands. The tape tugs painfully on his skin as he peels the bandage off.

“Good boy.”

The scalpel presses into the corner of his eye. He inhales, keeping his head tipped to the side. Blood pounds in his ears, overriding every other sound. He smells copper, swears he can taste it. All over, filling his mouth, lungs, body, until he is nothing more than a bleeding vessel.

Until he is no longer human.

The pain doesn’t register until warm blood soaks into his collar. He winces, cries out as the cut shifts and stretches. It's directly over his cheekbone, small, but very deep. If he had received it in battle, there would have been stitches. No treatment of that kind is coming his way this time.

“Go clean yourself up,” the doctor orders. His hand moves off his throat and he hears him step away. “Then I want you to write the obituaries for those men, along with condolences to their families. When I next see you, I expect you to remember their names and all they did for us.”

“Yes, boss.”

He slumps forwards, watching the blood roll sluggishly down his arm and onto the floor. Absent-mindedly, he traces the one around his wrist, smearing the blood further.

“Dazai.”

“Sorry, boss.”

He doesn’t bother with trying to keep the blood off the floor as he limps from the room. He needs bandages. He can get those later. The pain is his remainder. Reminder of his failure, reminder of his place, reminder that he is still skin, flesh, muscle, blood, bone.

He is still human.

#dazai osamu #mori ogai #blood #knife wounds #knife violence #tw sui ideation #abuse of power #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #Mori is his own warning #whump #bsd #bungou stray dogs #Dazai whump

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padawansuggest · 1 month

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Cody: *pinching the bridge of his nose* General, I /know/ you know how to use a blaster-

Obi-Wan: *guiltily* yes.

Cody: I have even seen you use them in practice with the men-

Obi-Wan: correct.

Cody: And yet. You threw it.

Obi-Wan: …yes.

Cody: …why did you throw it?

Obi-Wan: Well. You see-

Cody: oh god-

Obi-Wan: Palpatine was a Sith. He expected a lot of things from that fight. Maybe he expected to turn my sweet baby Anakin-

Cody: Ew-

Obi-Wan: -on us and use him, maybe he expected me to come at him with a saber, maybe he expected me to shoot him.

Cody: So you didn’t think he’d expect you to throw a blaster. You couldn’t have even chosen a granade?

Obi-Wan: Listen. He could have thrown one back at us. The force said throw the blaster and grab my sweet baby Padawan out of dodge and let Fox knife him. It worked!

Cody: Force give me patience so I don’t strangle my ven’riduur-

Obi-Wan: *perks up* So we’re still engaged?

Cody: You aren’t getting rid of me that fast, dikut.

#star wars #obi wan kenobi #incorrect star wars quotes #clone wars #incorrect clone wars quotes #commander cody #anakin skywalker #codywan #the blaster hit Palpatine right in the nose so hard he got a concussion #and then fox attacked him with a knife #there were 83 stab wounds and it was ruled an unfortunate suicide

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brbarou · 21 days

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i'm here. i'll take care of you

#rote #realm of the elderlings #fool's fate #the fool #beloved #fitzchivalry farseer #fitzloved #art #fanart #do you ever. wail #if death is the wound then resurrection is the knife deepening the cut or whatever...

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loverboyromanroy · 1 year

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sublime

#roman roy #i got three wins in this episode – cart ride/tellis mention/and the fucking scrunch he does with this cushion #and then several knife wounds to the gut and heart :(#succession spoilers

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jasmines-library · 7 months

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The ‘Do Not Call’ List.

WHUMPTOBER DAY 15. Prompt: barley conscious.

Fandom: DC/batfam

Summary: After finally escaping your life one night without saying goodbye to your family, you find yourself in jeopardy, which leads to a well anticipated call.

Warnings: Blood, stab wound, near death.

Word count: 2.1k

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

You were bleeding. Heavily.

The weapon was still lodged within your chest. 6 inches deep it sat, dislodging your ribs which you were sure were shattered, and tickling away at your lung. You hadn’t seen it coming, hidden behind the back of the man you had been tracking. It was too late by the time you had realised he had it; he got you good before sprinting away.

You had tried to get out of this life, leaving those you loved behind. You couldn’t deal with constantly living a lie. So you left. Packed your bags one night, upped and left. They had tried relentlessly to get ahold of you; Missed calls, unanswered texts and even trying to track you on the street cameras, but you knew how to cover your tracks. Being trained as a vigilante does that to a person. You changed your hair and your name, changed your clothes and your hobbies until even you began to not recognise yourself. It hurt to heave your family that way, but you thought it was the only solution. You had seen the texts flooding in. At first, they were concerned, then they turned to anger and morphed into pain and fear once again.

As you staggered backwards, gripping onto your chest, you knew that you shouldn’t have followed him. You knew that you shouldn’t have, that you should have just turned and ran the other way like any normal person should have, but you couldn’t. You missed them. You missed Tim’s meek smile and Damian’s sarcastic remarks, Jason’s wit and Dick’s comfort. You missed collapsing in the study after a long patrol to curl up and watch a movie. Doing this would have brought you one painstaking step closer to them again. So, it was one more criminal.

The blood pooled around you as you cried out, sinking to the floor; a dark river of scarlet oozing from between your fingers. Coughing harshly you tried to apply as much pressure to the wound as your weakening body would let you. The fit only jostled the wound more, eliciting a cry of pain which caused you to fist your shirt.

That was when you suddenly remembered the phone in your jean pocket. You knew that you should call for help, but when you agonisingly slipped it out of your pocket, the number your bloodstained fingers dialled wasn’t the typical number someone would call if they had a fatal stab wound.

Tim froze when he saw the name flash on the screen; a name that he knew at one glance. Your name. He hadn’t stopped searching for you since you left them high and dry, albeit there was no sign of you. You had vanished without a trace. His late nights turned even later as he scoured the internet and hacked into the cameras trying desperately to catch a glimpse of your face. He was often accompanied by Jason, who spent his time calling your number or leaving you strands of unopened texts. He hadn’t taken it so well. His nights were full of relentless torment in the form of unsaid thoughts of you. So, when he strolled in groggily to take his usual seat beside his brother but saw your name on the screen, his glass shattered on the floor.

“Is this real?” He asked, ignoring the glass and crossing the room in two strides to reach the computer. Some part of him believed that this was some sick joke, but then the ringing stopped. And started up again moments later.

“Answer it.” Jason told him, fumbling with the hem of his shirt.

When Tim pressed the answer button, they were hit with the sound of ragged breathing.

“Y/N?” He furrowed his brow, unable to hide the worry laid thick in his voice. A million thoughts raced through your mind at once.

There was silence on the other end of the line, before your voice pierced through the emptiness. “Jason?”

“Y/N? Where are you? What’s going on?”

“I…”

You were cut off by a coughing fit which caused blood to spill from the corner of your mouth. Both of the boy’s eyes widened at your wine of pain.

“I… I’m sorry.”

“What?” Jason was frantic now, moving around the cave to gather his weapons. “What’s going on?”

Your breath shook as you struggled against the pain. “I didn’t see it in time…”

“See what?”

“I’m sorry I left.” You dismissed his question to continue your ramble. You had to get the words out. You had to tell them. “I had to get out…I had to-”

Tim repeated his brother’s question, but once again it didn’t register in your mind.

“I didn’t want to leave. But it was the only way and I miss you. I miss you all and I need you to know that I love you all so, so much-”

“Y/N!” Jason cut off your rambling and you went quiet on the other end of the line. “What didn’t you see?”

“The knife.”

Jason’s blood ran cold. Suddenly your state made sense. The ragged breathing and the cries of discomfort. “Tim. get a tracking signal.”

“On it.” His fingers were already trailing the keys, working away to find your location.”

“Where are you?” Jason was tugging on his mask.

There was no reply. Just pained wheezing. Then the line went dead.

During your time as a vigilante, you had often thought long and hard about how you would die. And you supposed this wasn’t far from it. You had always imagined you would go down in a fight. Shot down in action while saving the city, or whilst sacrificing yourself to save one of the boys. In a way, this wasn’t too dissimilar. You did go down trying for the greater good. Trying. But you hadn’t imagined that you would be alone. You supposed it was better for everyone this way. The one thing you definitely hadn’t accounted for was the cold. It dug down deep into your bones, stabbing away like a thousand tiny needles. It made an odd contrast to the burning of your chest. Though slowly, you started to feel nothing at all as you began to drift into a numb haze.

Gazing up at the sky, spots danced between your vision, blending in with the stars that twinkled above you. Smiling, you watched them dance around until one feeling began to blend into the other, until there was no feeling left but the darkness of the sky above you.

At first, you didn’t realise that there was a face besides you, until you were brought back to reality by the stabbing pain radiating through your gut. You screamed, writhing as the knife was eased from your chest. For some reason, he wasn’t wearing his mask, but from the way that his hair was jostled, you could tell that it had not long been torn from his face. You could see the outline of his face in the light.

“Jay.” You whispered.

You could see his lips moving, but you couldn’t understand what he was saying. He looked panicked, speaking to someone that you weren’t able to see. You squirmed, trying to see who was near you, only to be held down by Jason.

Pressure to the gaping wound made you cry out. Then Jason’s lips were moving faster, and everything seemed to hit you all at once. Jason was calling your name, tapping your face gently. You could hear the murmur of Tim who talked to himself as he worked.

Your head rolled on a loose neck as Jason tilted it towards him.

“Stay with me, y/n. Please.”

Everything hurt, and your mind throbbed with your fast heart rate. It was hard to focus on anything with your doubling vision making everything swim around you.

You whined as you were shifted on to your side so that the younger of the two could begin to secure the bandages around you. You tried to focus on Jay, who had rested your head in his lap and was combing your hair through his hands, but you couldn’t. It was just too hard.

Your body began to slow down. Your eyes dropped and head lolled in his lap.

“No. No no no.” Jason was pinching you now trying to get a reaction from you, but your eyes only fluttered as you struggled to keep a grip on consciousness. “You have to stay awake.” He pleaded.

“Hurts…” you forced out, face contorting in pain as Tim continued to work and apply pressure to the laceration.

“We know. We know we’re sorry.”

“I’m nearly done. You’re doing so well.”

It felt like you were trapped in a never ending, agony filled cycle by the time that Tim finally finished bandaging you up and rolled you back into your side.

By this point, your eyes were spotting and your mind was swimming. You couldn’t even comprehend the pain. Your eyes fluttered, barely open a crack as you felt your mind wander, soon the faces around you blurred into the rest of the world and for one moment it was just you, consumed by the pain. And it wasn’t long after that until there was nothing. Just darkness.

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY 14 ⛤ DAY 16 ->

Taglist:

@senjoritanana

@deans-spinster-witch

@amaryllis23

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