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whumpsday · 10 months

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Pin and Needle

Whump writing masterlist | G/t writing tag

g/t sideblog here! @smallsday

content: g/t, whump, tiny whump, borrowers, animal attack, caretaking, needles/stitches, hurt/comfort, fear, past child neglect, probable medical inaccuracies, found family

Whumpmas in July Day 3: Stitches & Bandages GT July Day 3: Impulsive Two Weeks of Whump Day 2: Needles

of my 10 Whumpmas in July entries, 3 of them will be combos with GT July! here's the first of those! i will never get tired of writing borrower whump. i should write a borrower whump series someday. for any non-g/t people unfamiliar, borrowers are a species of tiny people who secretly live in humans' houses, like fairies without wings. if you've ever seen anything labeled "tiny whump", this is that.

Pin had been a dad for five years now, and he liked to think he was getting pretty good at it.

The kid was already seven and self-sufficient enough to not die on her own for who knows how long when he found her, so he didn't have to deal with any of that baby crap. Now she was twelve, and she was better at some stuff than he was.

Pin decided to go borrowing while the kid slept in today, with the human off at school. It was perfect, because then he could take his time looking for a surprise. Today was the five-year anniversary, and he wanted to make it special. There was a lot he'd missed in Chime's life, and from what the kid had said about her old parents, they weren't exactly in the habit of celebrating her.

He had to make it special.

Pin had already gathered all the food and supplies he needed to grab, so all that was left was the present. He'd been looking around every time he went out, but he couldn't see anything. The human lived by himself- mostly, aside from that damn cat he'd brought home last month- and was a starkly healthy eater. Not a lot of little bits and bobs he could use to make toys for her, either.

It had been easier to get treats for the kid with the family who used to live in the apartment, who always kept sweets around, but food was food. It was better for the kid this way in the long run, anyway. But he really wished he could get her a treat, just this once.

He didn't really go into the human's room. He was of the opinion that a man needed his privacy, and food was supposed to be kept in the kitchen, so why would he need to? Most of all, the cat liked to hang out in there, and that was a risk he didn't need to take. Apparently the human was just watching it for a friend, which was the only reason he hadn't taken the kid and moved. But maybe the guy was hiding some snacks in there. From all the studying he seemed to do in there, it was likely, right?

Just this once.

Pin approached the bedroom. He could probably have squeezed himself through the gap under the door if he needed to, but the door was open a crack. He peeked in.

The cat snoozed happily on the chair left messily pulled out from the desk. Perfect, it was asleep. All he had to do was not make noise and-

It didn't take long for Pin to find his prize. There, right on the desk, a bag of marshmallows. Bingo. The bag even proclaimed them "mini", like they were made for borrowers. He could probably fit two or three in his rucksack to surprise the kid with when she wakes up.

Even with the chair pulled away, it was a little too close to the cat for comfort. He really should turn around and just try and make the kid another toy.

Ah, fuck it.

Pin could take a little risk. The cat was asleep. He readied his sticky hand- a human children's toy, a little less reliable than a grappling hook but much quieter- and climbed his way up the desk.

No issues. He was in the clear. He ripped a small hole in the bag and stuffed three marshmallows in his pack.

When he turned around, the cat was not asleep.

It stared straight at him with huge, yellow eyes, pupils constricted and tail flickering back and forth.

"Oh, shit. Hey, kitty," Pin whispered, backing away slowly.

The cat hunkered down, its hindquarters wiggling slightly, like-

Heart pounding, Pin dropped the pack and ran. But he was too slow, of course he was too slow, he was five inches tall. Borrowers weren't made to be fast, they were made to be sneaky, and he'd done the one thing a borrower was never supposed to do: he'd been found.

The cat was on the desk in an instant and its paws pinned him to its surface in another, their fuzzy exteriors giving way to claws stabbing through his clothes, through his skin. He screamed, trying to squirm away, but that only made the agony intensify, the claws dragging through flesh as blood stained his ruined clothes.

"No! Stop!" he cried uselessly, gasping with pain, but the cat didn't listen. Its head drew closer, mouth opening to reveal a maw full of sharp teeth that could easily crush bones.

Pin wailed in despair. He was going to die a violent, bloody death before he even hit forty. It wasn't supposed to end like this!

He kicked wildly, and by some stroke of luck, he managed to land a hit on the cat's snout, causing it to rear back a little.

That was all he needed. Pin tore away from the paws, letting out another shriek as they popped through his skin, and ran toward the front of the desk as fast as he could, dropping blood behind him.

The cat spun, tail flickering and ears forward with excitement.

"Fuck off!" Pin shouted. He shoved the desk drawer open just enough to slide in, landing on the bottom with a grunt.

The cat's paw dove in after, reaching for him. He scrambled to the back of the drawer, trembling in terror.

"Calm- calm down," he told himself, trying to get his quick breathing under control. The drawer was too small: even if the cat got it open, it wouldn't be able to fit all the way in the back. He wrapped his arms around himself, quickly becoming soaked in blood as his midsection throbbed with pain.

It was so dark, the only light coming from the sliver where the cat's paw batted around, searching for him. Pin grabbed at the piece of paper he found himself sitting on, tearing off a piece with shaking hands and wrapping it over himself like a bandage. He pressed it there tightly, even as it became soaked with blood, too.

Pin always tried to be strong for the kid. But Chime wasn't here right now, so he let himself cry. It was the worst pain he'd ever felt in his life, and he might still die. What would happen to him? How was he going to get back home? What if he didn't stop bleeding and he died here in the dark?

He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there when the front door clicked open, making him startle in his frazzled state. The human wasn't supposed to be home yet, was he? Or had he just been sitting here that long?

"This is why I need to check my emails, Yarny!" the human called. Right, the beast that might have caused his slow, painful death was named Yarny.

The cat's paw retreated and it hopped off the desk, exiting the room with a loud, insistent meow.

"Yarny!" the human gasped. "Is that blood!? What happened? Are you hurt?"

Oh no. The human was going to find him if he didn't move. Pin stood up: now that the cat was gone, he needed to get out of here.

He took one step, stumbled, and sat right back down as his vision spun.

"Oh, thank god," the human said distantly. "What, then, did you catch a mouse? Please tell me it's not still running around my apartment."

The human was going to kill him.

He would die without even getting to say goodbye to Chime. She was going to be abandoned again, this time by him. No kid should have to go through that. He was supposed to be getting her a present. How had this all gone so wrong? He didn't want to die.

But the footsteps drew closer, and he didn't have a choice. He scooted back into the corner of the drawer, clutching the paper around himself like he would even have the time to bleed out. He sobbed, hoping it would at least be quick.

The door creaked as the human swung it open, pattering over to the desk. Pin's whole world rumbled around him as the human slid the drawer open, revealing him trembling in the corner.

"H-hi," Pin said weakly.

The human stared, eyes wide with disbelief. Pin had never been so close to a human before. He was even bigger up close. He looked like he might have been, well, a scrawny nerd, maybe a little more than half Pin's age if he had to guess, but things like that didn't matter at his size. A human baby could crush him, let alone a young man.

"What are you?" the human asked, incredulous.

The last thing Pin was going to do was put his species at risk. He shrugged. "Dying," he squeaked, unable to keep casual.

"Oh, oh no." The human seemed to snap out of his incredulous stupor, enormous hands reaching toward him. Pin cringed back, but the human scooped him up anyway.

Pin squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath, trying not to whimper, but no death came for him. The human's hands were gentle, carrying him out of the drawer.

"Yarny, no," the human chastised, closing the bedroom door behind him as he walked out to the kitchen. He turned his attention to Pin. "I'm so sorry, I don't even know what you are. Yarny hurt you?"

"Yeah." He slowly opened his eyes, staring up at the giant. His trembling started up again. "Are you gonna kill me?"

"What? No!" The human seemed to realize he was making Pin uncomfortable and set him down carefully on the counter. "I won't hurt you, I promise. I'm- well, I'm not a doctor yet, I'm just a med student- are you still bleeding?"

Pin let out a shaky sigh of relief. His heart still raced with terror, but if the human was able to help him- well, he'd already been found.

He pulled the paper away from his injuries, getting a good look for the first time. Several bloody marks raked down his left side where the cat had sunk its claws into him. Blood oozed from them, warm and red.

"Look, uh," Pin didn't know the human's name. He almost never had company over, and no one just says their own name to themself. "Human guy. I know you don't know me but, you gotta help me, okay? I have a kid waiting up for me." It was risky revealing Chime's existence, but he never said he lived here, and since the human knew nothing about him, he'd have no way of knowing. His voice shook a little as he pled his case. "Single dad. She's got no one else. I can't die here, alright? C'mon. It- it hurts."

"Of course I'll help you!" the human exclaimed. He wrung his hands nervously. "It's just- I'm really not qualified, yet, is the thing. I could drive you to the emergency room? Or maybe, um, given your size, a small animal vet?"

"I'm not an animal!" Pin insisted, offended. "No, no, kid, listen. You can do this, alright? I've seen those books you keep in the living room. You got all the diagrams and shit. I can't be going to an emergency room and showing myself off to everybody. Just fix me and I'll be out of your hair."

"I haven't even done residency yet!" the human protested. "I've done a suture practice kit, but that's for normal-sized wounds, and it's just for practice, and I can't even determine that you need stitches because I'm not a doctor!" After a moment, he added, "And my name's Kendry."

"Pin," he introduced himself. "Practice kit's better than nothing. Just do that." He couldn't have this human take him out to get prodded at by a bunch of other humans, it sounded like his worst nightmare. "And I'm rushing you, 'cause I'm getting dizzy here."

Kendry looked alarmed at that. "Oh- okay!" he agreed, obviously still anxious. "Can you take off your shirt so I can examine you?"

"You got it." Pin removed the tatters that were once his shirt, wincing as the movement ignited more pain in his side.

Kendry peered closer. "I- yeah, I'm going to give you stitches. I would really like to take longer, but you can't have that much blood in you... I'm not a vet..." he trailed off.

"Good, 'cause I'm not a mouse," Pin grumbled, but the repeated broaching of the topic made him nervous. If Kendry saw him as a fellow person, he would probably be okay. But if the human saw him as an animal... who knows what he would do to him? The fact that his life laid entirely in this giant stranger's hands was terrifying.

"I'll be right back." Kendry dashed out of the kitchen, returning with a black fabric case. He unzipped it to reveal a cut-up silicone pad with all the cuts neatly sewn closed, curved needles of various sizes, thread, a bunch of different tweezers, and a few sets of scissors as tall as Pin.

Oh, he didn't like that last part at all.

But Kendry reached for the smallest curved needle, which still looked pretty damn big. "This is the practice kit. I did pretty well with the suture pad, but you're so small..." he fretted. He threaded the needle, pulled a packet from a drawer, ripped it open, and wiped the needle, thread, and one tweezer down with the tissue inside. He opened another one and held it hesitantly in front of Pin.

"I need to sanitize you first. Cats' claws can carry germs, I don't want you to get infected. It's going to sting," he warned. "I'm sorry, I can't give you anything for the pain, I'm worried you might even overdose on ibuprofen at your size..."

Pin maneuvered himself onto his other side, letting his injury face up toward Kendry, way too vulnerable. "It already stings, and I don't know what ibuprofen is. Just do it."

"Okay. Here goes." Kendry swiped the wipe over Pin's side, and he had to bite his cheek to keep from shrieking. It hurt, the fluid inside seeping into his open wounds.

"Are you okay?" Kendry asked.

"I will be once this thing stops bleeding," Pin said, voice strained.

"Alright, I just need you to hold still. Is it okay if I...?" Kendry brought his other hand to hover around him.

Pin hated the idea of being held in place, unable to move, but he nodded anyway. Whatever the doc-in-training had to do. "Go for it."

Kendry rested a finger on his back and a thumb on his chest, holding him gently but firmly in place despite Pin's continued trembling. "Just try and stay still. I'm sorry if it hurts. I'll do my best," he promised.

The needle entered his skin, dipping in and out as Pin fought the urge to squirm away. He couldn't hold back this time, sobbing harder every time the needle re-entered him. There were no more check-ups from Kendry: Pin could see, through tear-blurred eyes, all his focus was on the wound.

After way too long, Kendry released his hold, allowing Pin freedom of movement again. He didn't take advantage of it, exhausted by blood loss and his ordeal.

"Don't move," Kendry told him anyway. He grabbed one of the scissors.

Pin put his hands up, adrenaline flooding him. "I won't! What are you doing with that!?"

"Easy." Kendry wiped that down with the stinging wipe, too. "You still have the thread attached. I won't hurt you." He glanced down at the scissors, then back at Pin. "I know it must seem frightening to someone your size, but I'm just going to cut the thread. Honest."

"Right. Right, yeah." Pin forced himself to relax, lowering his hands back down as Kendry snipped the thread, leaving several wounds in his side stitched up relatively neatly.

Kendry grabbed a band-aid, one of the few medical tools Pin liked to take to keep around under the floorboards, and peeled the plastic away. He dropped some clear-ish gel from a tube onto the center. "I'm going to add some Neosporin on it just to be safe. An infection would wreak havoc on you."

"Sounds good to me," Pin agreed, sitting up. Kendry wrapped the band-aid around his body, the stitches hidden underneath. Good. He didn't want the kid to freak out about it.

"There. That went... pretty well, I think," Kendry said, almost stunned. "Where can I... discharge you to?"

"Thanks. The floor," Pin instructed. He could just get back home when Kendry wasn't looking. He'd have to find a new place after that, now that the human knew. Even if he was friendly enough to help, there was no way he'd want them to stay. "I'll be out soon as I can move around right."

Kendry tilted his head, the situation finally clicking. "Were you... living here?"

"Uh, yeah," Pin admitted. "Since before you moved in, actually."

"Oh! Well, um, I'm not going to kick you out after you just got attacked. You're... my patient. That wouldn't do," Kendry decided. "Does your daughter live here, too?"

The jig was pretty much up at this point. If Kendry wanted to hurt him, he already would have. "Yeah. Which is why I'm not telling you exactly where. I'm thankful and all, but... you get it."

"Oh, of course," Kendry agreed quickly. "You're just being a good dad."

Pin smiled at that, despite the pain. He wiped the tears from his face. "Thanks. I try, you know? She's not even my kid by blood, she actually lived here before either of us. I was scouting for a new place when I found her here all on her own. Seven years old, could you believe that?"

"What!? That's crazy!" Kendry pulled up a chair and sat, transfixed. "Seven years old, four inches tall?"

"Three tall. She was little. Apparently her parents had too many kids, so they just started kicking 'em out as soon as they were old enough. I don't think seven's old enough, but hey, what do I know?" Pin shook his head. "Today's the five-year anniversary of when we met. Usually stay out of your room, you gotta have your privacy, but I wanted to get the kid something special. Could I still get a few of those marshmallows?"

"Oh! Yeah, of course!" Kendry ran off toward the room, returning with a handful of mini-marshmallows as well as Pin's rucksack and sticky hand. "I figure these are yours?"

"Yeah. Thanks for being cool about everything." This was going so much better than he'd expected. "We'll move out soon. Probably should have the day you brought the cat."

"Um, you could stay if you want." Kendry offered, hope flashing in his eyes. "You were here first, after all."

This guy was obviously ridiculously lonely. But he mentioned having a friend? "I mean, yeah, that'd be great, if it's really alright. You okay?"

"Yeah! It's just- I lost my parents a few years ago," Kendry admitted. "You seem like... a really good dad. I don't want to make things harder for you. I don't mind having roommates."

Ah, so that was it. Pin reached out and patted Kendry's hand. He wouldn't mind having another pseudo-kid. "Me neither."

here's some more borrower whump i wrote if you like this! and be on the lookout for a Tiny Kane AU on thursday :)

feel free to ask to be on any of my taglists, btw!

everything taglist:

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps

@t0rture-me

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

@whumpshaped

one-shots taglist:

@icyheart-and-friends

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps

@whuarri

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g/t whump taglist:

@whumpinthepot

@cupcakes-and-pain

just this one

@a-crumb-of-whump

event: @whumpmasinjuly @gianttol @promptsforyourwhumpfic

#gtjuly #gtjuly2023 #twow #twoweeksofwhump #g/t #whump #whumpmasinjuly2023 #wij23day3 #my writing #borrowers #tiny whump #caretaking #needles #hurt/comfort #medical whump #stitches and bandages #impulsive #whump writing

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aceofwhump · 10 months

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Whumpmas In July 2023 - Day 3 - Stitches

#wij23day3 #whumpmasinjuly2023 #whumpedit #whumpmas in july #whumpmas in july 2023 #whump #gore #blood #needles #stitches #my gifs #mod post

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kira-the-whump-enthusiast · 10 months

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Day 3 - Stitches and Bandages

Synopsis: Couple months into Isaac's captivity, his pride is like gone lol. Submits himself to vivisection in order to keep his blanket :)

Content: Vivisection, gore, I'm gonna say it again there is vivisection and gore, immortal whumpee, whumper turned whumpee but it doesn't really come up here, a lot of invasive feeling stuff this is vivisection after all, blindfolded guy, broken whumpee

Tagging: @whump-in-the-closet @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @eric-the-bmo @befuddled-calico-whump

—

The blindfold was a mercy, he supposed.

It didn’t feel like one. If he didn’t want to look, he would have closed his eyes—but now, he didn’t even get that choice.

Isaac had never thought that there was anything more terrifying than the darkness and the silence, but he had a sinking feeling that he was going to be proven very, very wrong.

He struggled against the ropes binding him to the table but made no attempts to beg for release. Because he chose this. Maybe this was a fool’s choice, but he couldn’t pass up the chance to earn back his only source of comfort.

Kasumi promised him that she’d give him the blanket back after this, and it was all Isaac could hope for that she’d keep it.

“Hmm. I’ve never done this before,” Kasumi remarked, a laugh at the edge of her words.

Isaac swallowed nervously. The pit in his stomach only got deeper.

He wasn’t prepared for the first slice across his torso, and he would never be. The cold scalpel glided across his chest, cutting through skin and emaciated muscle.

Sharp fingernails dug into the incisions. His panic rose, his heartbeat like a beating drum. He felt the tearing of flesh and then a sudden cold. It was getting hard to breathe.

He tried his best to not scream.

His best was a whimper, let out between choked gasps and incoherent pleas.

A finger lightly traced one of his broken ribs, barely felt but still horrific. He was frozen in the grip of fear, save for the tremors that racked him. This shouldn't be happening. This shouldn't be happening— Why was this happening?

“God, that’s fucked,” Kasumi murmured, awe in her every word.

Isaac could hear her smile and her glee.

A knife ran over his empty, aching stomach. He felt what was left of his chest tighten, every muscle tensing. Don't, don't don't please—

Kasumi hummed as she dragged the scalpel down to his intestines, leaving a long, shallow cut in her wake. Isaac was hyperventilating now, lungs rising and falling rapidly.

"You're awfully quiet now, aren't you?" she teased. She lifted the scalpel, and for a moment, Isaac could almost breathe.

It came down in his liver.

The pain was sharp and instant, a burst of agony that stole his breath as he coughed and hacked for air. He spasmed on the table, trying to get away, even when he logically knew it was useless.

Kasumi laughed a mirthless laugh and pulled out the blade. Somehow it made Isaac feel worse, head spinning and bright colors flashing behind his eyes, joining the tears.

"That," she remarked, "was nothing." The scalpel pressed down on his lungs, not enough to leave an incision but enough to make Isaac freeze in terror.

She pushed the blade down, ripping through flesh and tissue, and Isaac screamed with all the breath he had left. "This? This is only the beginning."

—

It felt like hours. How long had it been? No, it didn't matter. Agony had a way of blending time together, and Isaac couldn't say if it's been 3 hours or 3 days.

He could barely breathe, and his head pounded in rhythm with his rapidly-beating heart. His viscera was alight with pain, and he wanted to beg for it to stop but he couldn't gather the breath to form the words.

Kasumi was saying something, but he couldn't really hear her. He needed to listen.

He couldn't. It hurt too much.

Something sharp lodged itself in his abdomen—he couldn't tell exactly where, because everything hurt the same. It felt…different from the scalpel, but maybe his nerves were just fried.

It didn't leave, though.

Not even as Kasumi folded his chest back together and started to stitch up the incisions.

Tiny little pinpricks making their way up his torso.

He tensed and shuddered at the constant, tiny bits of pain, the way the needle dug into his skin and pulled it together. It set his nerves alight, and he needed to get away but he couldn't, he was trapped here. Trapped, with no real way to escape.

He sobbed quietly in between gasps for air as she roughly sewed his wounds shut.

Then the ropes loosened, falling to the floor with a quiet thud.

Isaac got to savor the freedom for a moment before hands shoved him off the table. With a cry, he crashed onto the floor. The sharp thing still embedded inside him jolted, and he screamed, mind going blank and vision turning from black to white.

When the throbbing started to fade and the tear-stained blindfold came back into view, he curled in on himself, careful to not injure himself again.

He heard the door open with a creak, and Kasumi's footsteps as she walked away. The tangled knot inside of him seemed to loosen with every step she took away from him.

Though she returned as quickly as she came, and Isaac panicked, wondering if he did something wrong—

But no. She draped a thin, bloodstained blanket over him, and Isaac clutched it tightly, not wanting to let go.

Worth it. Was it worth it?

It had to be worth it.

Kasumi tapped her foot impatiently. "Well?"

Isaac hesitated. "…Thank you," he muttered, voice stiff from resentment and disuse.

"There." She reached down and pulled the blindfold off of him, and Isaac shut his eyes tightly as the bright fluorescent lights of the cell came into view.

"And by the way," she ordered, "I expect you to clean this up once you wake up."

She walked out of the cell, leaving Isaac with only silence, pain, and the smallest bit of warmth to mull over.

—

AN: Ahahahaha and this is only the first part :D

I love being evil to Isaac. and posting writings with absolutely none of the proper context. Look if you read this and you're like "what? how did we get here?" you can message me. I can infodump or summarize the possibly missing context as you please <2

#whump #whump writing #vivisection #immortal whump #immortal whumpee #gore #tw gore #broken whumpee #I don't like the term but like. that's the popular one and I'd like for people to find this #wij23day3 #whumpmasinjuly2023 #oc isaac #oc kasumi #my ocs <2 #my writing #kasumi is in her girlboss era #shes sooooo #also isaac is so fun to torment :D ahahahahaha

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whump-collector · 10 months

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Mark Waschke as Robert Karow in Tatort: Meta

For whumpmasinjuly Day 3: Creation Prompt - Stitches & Bandages

#whumpmasinjuly2023 #wij23day3 #whumpedit #tatort #tatort berlin #whump #mark waschke #robert karow #blood #cut #mine #whumpmasinjuly

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set-phasers-to-whump · 10 months

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Day 3: Creation Prompt - Stitches & Bandages

whumpee: illya kuryakin

fandom: the man from uncle

hi everyone! here's my first fic for the month :) i imagine this as ot3 (or pre ot3) and it takes place a year or two after the movie. also i cannot decide whether i like this or hate it, i was traveling for most of the day so it's like, a little messy lol.

Illya is sitting on the edge of an exam table in a Viennese hospital, his ridiculously long legs nevertheless not touching the floor. He looks calm, if a bit annoyed, but beneath this Napoleon can see how tense he is.

He doesn’t blame Illya. Hell, he’s tense, too. And from the way Gaby’s tapping her foot, that makes three of them.

They don’t do hospitals. They do stitches in hotel bathrooms and, if it’s serious enough, get checked over by UNCLE doctors when their mission is complete.

But not this time. Because this time, there had been several witnesses to the incident, including a cab driver who had absolutely insisted upon giving the three of them a ride to the nearest hospital, free of charge.

It had fit their cover, Napoleon has to admit. Three Americans on vacation in the Austrian capital are not exactly the type of people to refuse medical help from a kind stranger.

It had all been rather stupid, he reflects, as the three of them wait for a nurse to arrive. They’d been browsing in a high-end jewelry store, establishing their cover as a trio of wealthy American cousins out to see the sights of Europe. Napoleon and Illya had played the parts of dutiful (if bored) older relatives to Gaby, who’d dragged them through the store, pointing out every single item that caught her eye (or, rather, the eye of the young, extravagant wedding planner she was meant to be).

It’d been crowded, stuffy. Napoleon had been sweating through his light shirt, silently hoping for time to speed up. He and Illya had been bent over a counter at Gaby’s insistence, peering with feigned feigned interest at a frankly ridiculous-looking necklace when, from Napoleon’s perspective, Illya had suddenly decided to smash through the glass jewelry case with his head.

Of course, this had turned out to not be the case. Illya, it seemed, had merely been a distraction - while everyone else in the store had been caught off guard, two men who had been browsing through the wedding rings had begun smashing the other jewelry cases, and suddenly the store had found itself in the middle of a robbery.

It was clearly an amateur job, and it had ended very quickly - evidently, the robbers hadn’t planned on the glass cases being alarmed. They’d run off quite quickly after their initial smashings, strings of pearls and diamonds jumbled together in their hands, and that had been that.

Illya had been fine, really. His forehead had collided with a metal edge and the cut had bled profusely - in fact, is still bleeding beneath the towel he’s pressing to it - and various shards of glass had cut up his face and hands, but nothing major. No concussion, nothing broken. Just blood.

Blood had been more than enough to worry everyone else in the store, which was when the cab driver - incredibly kind fellow, really - had insisted upon offering his services. And so the three of them had climbed reluctantly into a car far too small for four grown adults, and they’d been taken to the hospital, free of charge.

And it wasn’t like they could’ve left then, either. The cab driver had stayed parked in front of the entrance until they’d gone inside, giving them a cheerful wave farewell before going off to find another fare.

And now they’re here. The nurse arrives at last and immediately gets down to business, examining Illya’s face and then asking him whether he has ever had stitches before.

Illya nods in the affirmative, and the nurse asks whether he’d been awake.

Napoleon answers for him: “He was unconscious. Had his appendix out when we were in college.” This is not technically true, but Illya does have a scar in roughly the right location. It’s from a bullet, not a surgeon’s knife, but it’s not like the nurse is going to check.

“Excuse me, but I was asking your…”

“Cousin,” Napoleon fills in. “And you won’t get much out of him. He’s mute.”

“Oh,” the nurse replies, looking between the two of them. “But he can hear?”

Napoleon nods. Illya had been given this aspect of his cover the second Waverly had heard his attempt at an American accent. Napoleon had teased him relentlessly for a day or two - turns out even the KGB’s best has an Achilles’ heel.

It’s actually come in handy, though. The three of them have learned, quite quickly, that Illya’s total silence makes people more likely to speak in his presence about things they perhaps shouldn’t speak about. He’s gathered some valuable intel this way, but at the moment is experiencing no particular advantage.

“I have to warn you, this will be much different. You will be numb, but awake.”

Illya nods against the cloth still pressed to his forehead. Napoleon imagines he’d like to say something like, just do it and stop talking, but he’s trapped as the nurse rattles on.

Eventually, though, he does get on with it. Napoleon and Gaby are shooed away from the table and have to watch from a corner as the nurse wipes away the bright red blood and then pushes a needle of anesthetic into Illya’s forehead. Gaby stiffens slightly. Napoleon can guess how she feels. There is something very different about this. About watching someone else, someone unknown, have this kind of access to their partner.

“Can you feel this?” the nurse asks, poking at Illya’s forehead. When Illya shakes his head no, the nurse moves in with a needle and thread.

At least, Napoleon thinks, these medical supplies are completely sterile. They’re not from an ancient first-aid kit found in the basement of a safehouse, not from the emergency sewing kit they’d stolen from a woman’s purse that once. Illya is in good hands, Napoleon tells himself. It’s fine.

Except it’s not fine. It’s not them. He sees the tension in Illya’s shoulders and knows that if it was him doing the stitching, Illya would be more relaxed. He watches Illya stiffen as the nurse ties off the thread and knows that Gaby would’ve been there to squeeze his hand and distract him from that most unpleasant sensation.

The nurse finishes with the needle and thread, applies an antibiotic cream, pastes a bandage over the fresh stitches. And then he grabs a cotton ball and rubbing alcohol and starts cleaning and bandaging the little cuts on Illya’s face and hands, the ones that have already stopped bleeding, and Napoleon actually feels something in his chest tighten.

He should be doing this. It should be him tilting Illya’s face gently up towards himself, one of the only times that their relative heights are reversed. It should be him deftly but gently wiping away the blood, giving Illya the care that they both know he doesn’t need. And it should be Gaby’s fingers on Illya’s hands, scraping blood from under his nails and holding his hands so, so lightly because they both know he won’t pull away.

But it's not.

The nurse finishes with Illya. “Come back in a week, and I will remove these. In the meantime, keep everything clean, and you should be fine.”

And just like that, they’re standing outside of the hospital and simultaneously realizing that there is no obvious method of getting back to their hotel. And then they’re crammed into another cab that’s too small for four fully-grown adults. And then they’re back in their hotel and they’ve all got separate rooms but Gaby and Napoleon hadn’t even hesitated before inviting themselves directly into Illya’s room.

Illya…doesn’t mind. Napoleon had kind of expected him to mind. He’d expected Illya to say I am fine, I am hurt worse than this all of the time.

But he’s quiet, like he’s still playing his role even though it’s just the three of them now. He’s pliant. He lets them check him over, their fingers ghosting over bandages he’d usually have ripped off by now.

When they’ve satisfied themselves, somewhat reluctantly, with the nurse’s job, both Napoleon and Gaby join Illya’s silence. They’re sitting together on the couch, Napoleon and Gaby bracketing Illya between them, and by silent communication they both move closer, until they’re all three tangled together, a mess of limbs that shouldn’t be as comfortable as it is.

“Thank you,” Illya says softly, after a very long time.

Napoleon doesn’t feel that they deserve his thanks. Not for this. Not for today. Not when all that they did was stand there.

“Why?” he whispers back, half afraid of the answer.

Illya shrugs, a movement Napoleon feels rather than sees. “You are here,” he says, like that’s all that matters in the world.

And maybe it is.

thanks for reading!! hope you liked it, love u all <3

#whumpmasinjuly2023 #wij23day3 #the man from uncle #illya kuryakin #stitches #bandages #medical #i say things #my writing #idk i love the thought of like. they can help him they can touch him like this but no one else can #except what if someone else had to #yknow?#idk. it's about the trust bro.#also google docs kept being like 'you put two feigneds there' i KNOW they are faking their fake interest!! there's layers bitch #also i wasn't sure whether the muteness point was like. relevant but i wanted them as americans for some reason (was imagining this fic in #my head on a car ride) and in my mind illya absolutely Cannot do an american accent he just can't do it. and so the plot point was born #idk. anyways. goodnight!!

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kats-kradle · 10 months

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Fandom: The Musketeers (2014)

Relationships: d'Artagnan & Athos | Comte de la Fère, d'Artagnan & Porthos du Vallon, Aramis | René d'Herblay & d'Artagnan

Characters: d'Artagnan (Trois Mousquetaires), Aramis | René d'Herblay, Athos | Comte de la Fère, Porthos du Vallon

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Bleeding Out, Blood, d'Artagnan being an idiot, Friendship, Worry

Summary:

Red stained his shaking hand. D’Artagnan stared at it, uncomprehending. Not-good-not-good-not-good blared in the back of his mind, but all that left his mouth was a relatively calm:

“Huh.”

——

Common sense dictates that when bleeding out, it’s best to alert the medic—or anyone, for that matter—before you collapse. D’Artagnan learns this the hard way.

Written for Whumpmas in July Day 3: stitches and bandages

#wij23day3 #whumpmasinjuly2023 #whump #the musketeers #d’artagnan #athos #porthos #aramis #fics #my writing

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whumpinthepot · 10 months

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@whumpmasinjuly 2023

3. Stitches and Bandages

I had this concept sketch of Hamster baby when she had her arm wrapped up in the bathroom. From my Tiny Whump CYOA <3

#bandages tw #broken bones tw #tiny whump #pet whump #whump art #whumpmasinjuly2023 #wij23day3 #whumpmas in july #breezy’s post #hamster interactive story #breezys art

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whumpmasinjuly · 10 months

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Day 3: Creation Prompt - Stitches & Bandages

It’s time to hurt your favorite canon characters or OC’s! Are they stitching someone up, or getting stitched up themselves? Are they struggling to find bandages to stop the bleeding, or did they just steal some to help a friend? The possibilities are endless!

Write, draw, create—and don’t forget to use the tags #whumpmasinjuly2023 and #wij23day3 so that others can enjoy your awesome creations too! Make sure to tag @whumpmasinjuly-archive so your works can be featured on our official archive blog!

#whump #whump community #whumpmasinjuly #infowhumpmasinjuly #infowij23 #wij23day3 #wijprompt

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little-peril-stories · 10 months

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stitches & bandages

I didn't write this for this particular event - it was already in existence (so I understand if it doesn’t really count) - but I shall offer up this chapter of my story The Prince of Thieves, which includes both stitches and bandages:

The Light in the Storm

Colette slid to a stop on the slick, snowy ground, drawing a sharp gasp. “Look.” Jamie followed her pointed finger just in time to see a figure, moving slowly and wreathed in shadow, stumble and slump to the ground.

“Can you get up?” Gently, Colette tried to pull Will upwards, and though he nodded, the movement only resulted in a strangled cry of pain. “What? Where does it hurt?”

“He’s fine,” Colette promised, standing next to him, her voice soft. “Geoff cleaned it and stitched it up. It was deeper than he thought. Probably hurt like a bitch. But really, he’ll be all right.”

#wij23day3 #whumpmasinjuly2023 #lps the prince of thieves

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whumpapalooza · 10 months

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Stitches & Bandages

His foot hit a root. He gasped, stumbling, and let go of the kindling under his left arm. At the same time, he instinctively held out a hand to brace for impact.

Too late, he realized he was reaching out with his bandaged arm. He couldn't stop before he grabbed the trunk of a nearby tree to steady himself.

The pain was immediate. It shot up his forearm and burned. He hissed, knees bending as he cradled his injury. His skin felt like it was splitting, blood pushing through healed tissue.

Someone called his name. There was a clatter of more kindling dropping to the forest floor, and then hands were on his shoulders.

"I'm alright," he said preemptively. He opened his eyes to smile up at his friend.

She didn't smile back. Her face was pale, eyes fixed on his bandaged arm. In a panicky voice, she said, “I thought you stopped bleeding!”

He glanced down at his forearm. A dark red stain was seeping through the wrapped layers of bandages. It was spreading quickly. "I've reopened the wound, it seems," he muttered.

#wij23day3 #whumpmasinjuly2023 #whump #bleeding through the bandages #no character names or context because I'm not ready to publish this fic yet #even though I've been working on it since January #hopefully sometime this month I start uploading it...

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whump-captain · 10 months

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- Day 3 -

Prompt: Stiches and bandages

Last minute drabble yeehaw (more of Hand Impalement Saga here and here)

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CN: hand injury, stitches, bleeding, painkillers

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He's unconscious when they stitch his hand together, in a haze of exhaustion and medication.

When he wakes up, it's wrapped already. Soft bandage hides the sorry sight of the sutures. He can feel them; a line of snakebite dots of pain that spill out their venom all the way up to his elbow. Every twitch of his fingers pulls the damaged skin taut around the thread.

But his fingers obey him, movements agonising but true. He lets out a breath and it's both pain and relief that give it voice.

The painkillers work slowly. The bandage stiffens with red.

#wij23day3 #whump #whump drabble #oc whump #hand injury #stitches #hospital #captain's stuff #captain's ocs #ghost ambulance #this. is Not the thing i started writing #i realized that thing didn't actually have much to do w/ the prompt lol so im leaving it for later #yea it's like 1am but shhh #drabbles to the rescue #whumpmasinjuly2023

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its-my-whump · 10 months

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Whumpmas in July Day 3: Stitches and Bandages

There were bandages around his ribs, his right wrist and lower leg, more dressings over the cuts and bruises on his arms, knee and shoulder. But the laceration on his lower leg was the worst. After the surgery, where they knotted it back together, it was wrapped tight, unless a nurse was changing the bandages.

Still laying in that hospital bed, counting about 29 stitches, maybe more under the crust, Sam just knew, it would suck to get back up on his feet. He just knew, it would take him weeks to set one foot in front of the other without pain and caution.

It had been 6 days, since he was discharged from hospital. Now he was hobbling his way from A to B like an old dog, doomed to be put down. But he managed, thanks to the humanitarian, who had invented painkillers.

But after 6 days of organic food, lettice, sprouts and smoothies he was dying for some fast food, a damn pizza, a handful of fries and just some greasy meat. Anything really, that would jump his cholesterol and blood sugar, bringing it out of the depth of this hellish healthy lifestyle Pete was performing and he was bound to endure for not being able to fill his fridge on his own.

He just wanted to taste good old unhealthy junk. Probably, his intestines had never been better, but he felt miserable nevertheless. Sam was hurt and just wanted to taste badly processed stuff, the opposite of organic food. He desperately just wanted to taste something, at least once a day or every two days.

Despite his bad leg, Sam instisted to accompany his best friend, the one responsible for keeping him feed the last few days, on his shopping spree.

Balancing on his good leg, Sam was just deep in thought, deciding which flavour of icecream he wanted. One crutch leaning against the icebox, the other was under his right arm and a bag of chips between his fingers, when someone shouted something somewhere from his left.

His mind was still burried in the freezer, between double caramel and cookie dough. His arm was moving towards the second choise, he didn't understand the contents of the argument or whatever was happening there.

The next moment something big and heavy was thrown at him. That something was a person and some pointy part of that person slammed just right between his already agitated ribs. The weight, that met him and the sudden hit brought them both down. Their fall only stopped by the hard and unyielding floor.

Sam's left leg, his bad leg, got stuck between the edge of the commercial freezer and his crutch and it didn't really participate in his fall. So there was no possibility to ease the sudden strain on his stitches.

His ribs burned from the impact and his right arm shot a sharp sting to his brain, when it was pinned under the second crutch, while the rest of his body connected with hard ground in a wrong angle.

But the worst of all, suddenly his leg felt like being bluntly ripped open by an invisible force. This information reaching his mind seemed to be delayed by blissful milliseconds.

A half surpressed scream jumped through his teeth, while his world was hijacked from blinding white hot pain. In the same moment the bag of chips exploded under him in an earpiercing bang.

Pete had circled back to get some fresh spinach, when he heard the sound of an exploding bag of chips echo through the aisles. He could see from afar, that Sam had gone down in an entanglement. Another guy was beside him and a third standing nearby laughing.

The spinach left Pete's hand again and he started running towards them. The first guy, was just getting up, looking sheepish and apologetic. The moment Sam's hands went up, apparently in a gesture of 'I'm okay.' Peter noticed how freaked out he really was, when relief spread again. He slowed his pace a bit.

The second guy was pretty tall and just lending his friend a hand, still laughing and apologizing. A second later his facial expression turned into a grimace.

"Oh damn. That was uncalled for. Are you okay my man?" The small guy, who slammed into him, because the argument with his colleague had turned physical all of a sudden, looked at Sam's distored face, after a spray of spicy flavour and crumbs had settled onto them and the surrunding tilts.

Sam raised his arms in a kind of a disarming gesture, after he freed his right from under his crutch. "Yeah." His face said something different though.

The second guy, long and slender in comparrision to his short friend, was landing a hand and the one, who went down with Sam, took it, about to get back up.

"WHA...? SHIT!"

That was when Pete fell into a sprint, despite him not even able to see what they saw. Shorty was blocking his view, but all their grim faces were already confirming, something was seriously wrong there.

"Fuck man. What just happenend?" The small guy was shocked by the red stain under his counterparts leg, spreading.

Peter ran, went down while covering the last part on his knees and stopped by Sam's side. His friend's already pale face had lost all the rest of its color and his eyes were half closed. There was blood on the tilted floor. The amound told Peter, that the freshly changed bandages from this morning must already been soaked.

"Ey, ey ,ey. Stay with me, a'right." A hand went to Sam's face, the other had already pulled his pantleg up and had started pressing down onto the bloody bandages. Sam's eyes opened a bit more, alerted by Pete's voice and the more sudden pain, but his nod was only weak.

Surely most of his suture must have been ripped, Pete couldn't tell by all the gore dripping through the gauze.

But even more importantly, these few particular stitches, that had been knotting his artery together were definitely reopened.

Suddenly, another femal costumer was by their side, the two guys still arguing, occupying too much space, while pushing guilt back and forth. Another man approached from the other side.

The woman had already her phone in hand. Peter realised the last man as a member of staff. "How can I help?" He asked.

"I need towels, a bunch of them. And you got zip tip? Long once?" "On it." The man nodded and left in a hurry.

The argument of the two dickheads responsible was still there. Peter was furious above all, because the concern for his friend ate at his nerves. His hands were covered in Sammys blood, that was constantly pumped out of him with every heartbeat. Pete could feel it under his fingertips.

"EY?! SHUT THE HELL UP!" They looked at him thunderstruck and at least the little one rather embarrassed. This guys' eyes wavered down, scanning the spreading pool of red for a second and went up again.

"Make yourself useful. YOU! Take your belt and put it around his leg real tight to cut the bloodflow. And YOU! Turn that cart. We need to elevate his legs." They did as they were told and then helped to put Sams legs up on the side of the turned shopping cart, while Pete was still desperately trying to slow the bloodflow.

Gore instantly dripped onto the remaining items in the card, covering fresh fruits and vegetables, cookies and chocolate in deadly red.

The woman had called an ambulance and pleaded them to hurry by delivering the essential information, that Sam was actually bleeding out here. They were a few minutes out.

She brushed gently over his head and talked to him in a soothing tone, while he suffered through the belt being applied and the change of his position. Nevertheless muted moans still needed to get out. His skin was clammy and cool, his breah strained and shallow.

The employee was back with an arm full of towels. 'Of all things, had it to be white towels, really?' He kneeled beside them, a bag of long zip ties fell to the floor right beside Sam's head.

The idiots were standing a few feet away, consciously keeping quiet, but still starring in disbelieve and horror.

The woman had already grabbed for a towel, even before the other man was completely down and put it under Sam's head all so gently. She didn't stop talking to him, holding his hand again, but he was hardly responsive.

Pete had his hands full. There was already so much blood and he could feel, not only the red lifeforce leaving his friends body in pulses, but how the tension in his muscles was faiding. He couldn't risk to lift his hands from that leg too soon. "Fold one of those and then make a tight rool. Then fold one in half on the long side, okay." He nodded at the staff member, then his attention turned to the woman. "Open that bag please. We need to act fast."

Both did as instructed. The employee presented his success. All attention was on Pete, while the woman kept on brushing over Sam's forehead, trying to keep him awake. He was hardly conscious by now.

"Okay. I'm gonna lift my hands and you press that roll lengthwise right down onto his leg. Then I'm going to wrap the other one around and you (he nodded to the femal) hand over zip ties one by one. Okay?" No one said a word, but all nodded in agreement. Even Shorty's head moved.

In fact Peter could have used more hands, but he didn't trust these morons anywhere near his bleeding friend than absolutely necessary.

The moment Peter lifted his hands, a sound, like a silent sob escaped Sam and all of the last tension left his body, when he slipped into unconsiousness.

The plan was executed fast. Sam's leg dressed in originally white towels as a makeshift bandage, which turned color fast. All was fixated with 4 long black stripes pulled tightly around, making it look like a human roulade. Sammy was out like a light for the whole ordeal and that was probably for the best.

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#whumpmasinjuly2023 #wij23day3 #wij #whumpmas in july #whumpmas in july 2023 #whump #whump community #writing #stitches and bandages #blood #gore

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