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fredsarebeds · 6 months

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This prompt is one I've been thinking about writing for a while. You know how sometimes the leader is too focused on something so they don't realize something else has happened? Yeah that's pretty much this but they don't realize one of the team members is injured and they try to hide it.

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Caretaker was currently running from the police. Whumper had framed them. Go figure. Now they were stuck in a parking garage trying to find a way out, so they could go figure out a plan to save Whumpee, and not get arrested in the process.

Caretaker felt a buzz in their pocket and realized it was a call from Team leader (again). They were about to pick up this time when they heard sirens (again), so they ignored it and put the phone back in their pocket. They exhaled sounding slightly exasperated.

Can't ever catch a break huh.

They peeked their head around a corner trying to see if they could make an escape route. Only to find that the police had completely covered the perimeter of the garage. Caretaker cursed. If they couldn't make their escape without detection they had two options:

Option one, give up and let themselves get arrested. Whumpee would probably die (causing the rest of the team to eventually fail because both Caretaker and Whumpee are now gone), and Whumper would get away with framing Caretaker.

Option two, making a break for it through the line of police and trying to lose them on the streets. Maybe still get arrested, but if they did lose them then they could regroup with the team. Whumpee would also have a chance now.

Both options sucked Caretaker decided, but the only real choice was option two unfortunately.

They ran down the ramp of the garage to a motorcycle, and began working as fast as they could to jump start it. A few policemen saw Caretaker and started shouting. Shit. Caretaker started working faster. But by the time they had gotten the engine jumpstarted, they had the undivided attention of all the police. Caretaker revved the engine and swerved the bike around to the other direction around a concrete pillar, not noticing a singular police officer to their back with their gun raised.

The officer didn't hesitate to take a shot.

The sound that echoed through the garage was deafening, and caught Caretaker almost more off guard than the unexpected pain that went through their side.

Caretaker staggered on the bike for a second then revved it again, and bolted out of the garage into the night air. Their primary focus was on losing the police and getting to the rendezvous spot which was around 30 blocks away. Not the gaping hole now in their side.

Losing the police on a motorcycle was fairly easy. The city has so many back alleyways and crevices that cars can't get into. Caretaker drove down one of the cities many abandoned subway stairwells, and came out on the other side only about 6 blocks away from the meeting area.

With the police now off their back momentarily, Caretaker took a deep breath and winced while putting their hand to the wound. It came back bright red, and the adrenaline of the chase had started to finally wear off a bit. Every slight jostle sent a sharp pain through their entire abdomen. They lifted their shirt to try and assess the damage.

It seemed pretty bad. Yay.

Caretaker had hoped that the bullet at least had went through and through. And it did, which was evident because of the exit wound through their stomach. But based on where it was located and the amount of blood, it had nicked an artery on the way out. Not nearly as bad as what Whumpee had been going through though. Whumpee had been taken hostage by Whumper for a little over a week, and the tings they did...

Everyone probably thought it was Caretakers fault. Caretaker didn't blame them.

They should've been faster.

Whumpee was the youngest one the team, and they shouldn't have to go through the same thing that Caretaker had with Whumper. Caretaker almost shuddered at the thought.

That's why they needed to save them as quickly as possible.

And this stupid bullet wound would only slow the team down from doing exactly that, Caretaker took their jacket off around their waist and put it on. Caretaker hoped that this would help stem the blood flow while also hiding how much they were bleeding, and set out for the safe house. They could patch up there, and then they would go save Whumpee.

Just walking was agonizing, but they couldn't risk bringing any unwanted attention with a stolen motorcycle. Before walking in, they looked themselves over for any signs of blood, Team leader glared at them as Caretaker tried not to stagger through the door.

"TEN. MISSED. CALLS. What the hell Caretaker?!" Team leader shouted. Medic and Teammate quickly acted like they were busy around the console, Caretaker cringed at the volume. Shit, their head was pounding.

Teammate walked over to Team leader and put a hand on their shoulder, "We can't start getting side tracked right now," They gestured to the table everyone else was gathered around, "We need a plan."

Team leader sighed and pressed their fingers to their temples, "Look, I didn't mean to raise my voice. But we're all worried about them. I just want to get Whumpee out of there as fast as possible."

Caretaker looked at their feet feeling guilty. Yeah me too.

They had only been standing at the console for a few minutes but their side was burning again and it was getting hard to stand up straight and focus. Caretaker carefully backed away from the screen console they were standing around to lean against a nearby wall while subtly wrapping a hand around their side, pressing on their stomach. Making sure to put pressure on their back too, Caretaker bit back a hiss and closed their eyes.

Teammate noticed their pained expression and walked over to Caretaker's side. "Hey, you good?" They looked at them, sounding slightly concerned.

Eyes still closed, Caretaker responded, "Yeah, it... it's just been a long day. I'm probably going to go lie down."

"That's great Caretaker, but that's not an excuse to be taking a nap right now." Team leader said not taking their eyes off from the console. Caretaker was grateful they were focused on that because they would've no doubt seen how pale they were. They also felt their side was starting to get sticky, and their jacket was clinging uncomfortably to their skin. Caretaker actually wanted to go sleep with how exhausted and cold they felt now, but they needed to go find a med kit and stitch this up first. Maybe drink a Gatorade too.

"So get back over here because we aren't done," Team leader ordered.

Caretaker didn't make any effort to move from the wall. They physically couldn't. Dark spots started clouding their vision, threatening to take over.

"Caretaker are you sure-" Medic started.

But before they could even finish, Caretaker's knees buckled and they collapsed onto the ground with a breath of pain. Medic cursed while they knelt down by Caretaker's side, and started searching for the source of the blood on Caretaker's hands. But with all the blood oozing from one side underneath their jacket, Medic quickly found the source of the problem, and lifted their shirt. Team leader just stared at the hole in their friend's side, and Medic started putting pressure on the wound with their hands right away, causing Caretaker to cry out.

"Caretaker... holy shit. Teammate go get me a medkit right now!"

"Medic, stop..." Caretaker slurred, weakly attempting to push their hands off. Medic just presses down harder, grimacing when the slippery liquid seems to seep out even faster like they were on a blood thinner.

"Did you take a whole bottle of aspirin or something?"

"...m'no"

Medic sighed, "Save your energy dumbass, it was rhetorical."

Team leader finally gathered their thoughts enough to speak, "Why didn't you say anything?" The words came out sounding like whimpering puppy dog.

"Your brother..." Whumpee.

Caretaker tried to say something else but the words were just sluggish and mumbled. They felt someone tapping their face and shaking them.

"Hey, no. You stay awake!" Medic pleaded.

Too tired.

The dark spots in their vision took over.

#hidden injury #whump prompt #whump #whumpee #whump writing #blood and injury #bullet wounds #guns #gunshot wounds #light angst #collapse #team whump #caretaker turned whumpee

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foxprints · 2 years

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Whumptober 2022 No.3 : Impaled

#whumptober2022 #no.3 #impaled #marvel #bucky barnes #clint barton #art #blood #bullet wounds #wounds and injuries #winterhawk #look i saw the impaled prompt and immediately thought of bucky shot through the chest with clint's arrows #for symbolic reasons obviously #and then ofc i had to do a complimentary piece featuring Clint being shot #since guns are bucky's weapon of choice #anyway these were a lot of fun to draw #mcu #616 #fanart

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popcorn-plots · 3 months

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Febuwhump day 3: "Bite down on this."

Title: Holmes and Watson

Words: 687 (finally, something that's not a drabble)

Summary: Sherlo-- Stephen gets injured on a casemission. WatsWong to the rescue.

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Stephen groaned as he clutched his shoulder. It was supposed to be an easy fight after tracking down a rogue sorcerer through London. Technically, Stephen wasn’t even supposed to be here – it was below his paygrade, according to Master Gremm of the London Sanctum. But Stephen had been stuck doing paperwork of all things for the past week and he wanted to get out.

Well, compared to bleeding out in a random alleyway after underestimating his assailant and paperwork, Stephen probably would have stayed at home. In his defense, however, he didn’t expect that the rogue would pull out an enchanted pistol and shoot him point blank. He was also told that the rogue was barely an Apprentice when they turned on the Order, meaning that they wouldn’t have the knowledge or the skills to enchant anything, let alone a weapon. Which meant that the rogue was working with another sorcerer.

To make matters worse, Stephen was pretty sure his ankle was broken and his shoulder (the same one the rogue had shot because fuck his life) was dislocated. He had taken a hard fall into a dumpster an hour ago and walking/running had been a bitch since. He both looked (probably), smelt, and felt like utter shit.

The rogue, watching from the side, kicked Stephen in the side for good measure, eliciting a groan from him, and vanished. Stephen felt like he should give chase, cast a spell or two, but he hadn’t slept properly in a week and his cracked ribs were still healing from the last fight. So no, he wasn’t giving chase.

Stephen laid there for a second, feeling warm blood pooling around him, cooling in between his fingers. Oh, right. It had been a clean shot, the bullet went straight through his shoulder. From the fact that he wasn’t dead yet, Stephen figured it hadn't hit anything vital. Still. Another reason he wasn’t chasing the rogue, he was hemorrhaging and possibly going into shock.

Stephen watched as his non-injured arm, soaked in blood, flailed about for a bit before falling back to his shoulder. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Stephen knew he had cast an SOS spell of sorts. There was a whooshing sound and Wong was kneeling beside him.

“Stephen…”

“Dislocated shoulder, broken ankle. Clean shot, there’s an exit wound.” Stephen managed to choke out. The pain wasn’t horrible, per say, but it wasn’t a walk in the park, either. “You gotta relocate the shoulder and set my ankle before you can move me.” Stephen breathed out.

Wong nodded. From his personal pocket dimension, Wong pulled out a spare belt. “Here, bite down on this.”

Stephen complied. The belt was rough and didn’t taste very good, but he knew he’d be grateful for it in a few seconds.

Wong gently removed Stephen’s blood-soaked hand and cast a simple spell to staunch the bleeding until they could get back to Kamar-Taj. Finally, Wong grabbed Stephen’s injured arm and, ignoring Stephen’s grunt of pain, pulled it up and rotated it.

Without warning, Wong shoved the joint back into its socket. Stephen’s scream was muffled by the belt he had bitten into. Thank the Vishanti for Wong’s gift of foresight.

Next was the ankle. Wong managed to set the bone without any complications, but it still hurt like a bitch.

When it was over, Stephen ripped the belt out and threw it to the side. “That hurt.” He groaned.

Wong stared at him as if saying, ‘no shit’. Stephen rolled his eyes and forced himself into a seated position. Wong, despite Stephen’s protests, picked him up bridal style and carried him through a portal into Kamar-Taj’s infirmary. Stephen probably wouldn’t be able to live that down, but he was secretly glad he didn’t have to walk.

They caught the rogue just a few days later, working with a Kamar-Taj insider. The insider was punished and the rogue locked up. Stephen couldn’t do anything (not that he would if given the choice, Hippocratic Oath and all) while he was wobbling around on crutches, but he could put his middle finger to good use.

Ao3

#febuwhump 2024 #febuwhump day 3 #febuwhump #stephen strange #wong #hurt Stephen Strange #bullet wounds #bleeding out #dislocated joints

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poetrybyonur · 1 year

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Pain. Antipathy. This is how I will remember you. Because this is what you left me to remember you by.

#poets on tumblr #love quotes #love poetry #romantic poetry #love poem #onurtaskiran poetry #romantic writer #gentleman poet #poets and writers #love #I will remember #painful scars #bullet wounds #betrayal #self absorbed #painful memories #unpleasant #i won’t forget #sad quotes

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w4nderingstarcodfanfics · 1 year

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Patch Job

I will not stand for Soap's bullet wound erasure by the COD story. SOMEONE HAD TO TAKE CARE OF THAT. Guess I have to do it myself and turn some unrealistic BS off camera healing into a great bonding moment.

Summary: Soap hasn't had a great night in Los Almas. The weather is shit, his friend's been captured, and oh yeah, the gunshot wound in his arm! He really needs a drink.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46637737

#simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #w4nderingstar cod fanfic #bullet wounds #ghost takes care of soap #soapghost #ghostsoap

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whump-about-it · 1 year

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“I was raised in the circus, remember.”

“Normally that’s a sufficient answer, but I really don’t understand where in the circus you learned to treat bullet wounds!”

#whump #whump prompt #whump dialogue #whumpee x caretaker #dialogue prompt #bullet wounds

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jazzstarrlight · 2 years

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Thank you to one of my donations!

Here's a drawing for you! (I got a lil carried away. Inspiration can do that. Lol.)

If anyone else would like to donate, my gofundme page is in my linktree in bio.

Thank you, again!

#thank you #go fund me #henry stickmin #reginald copperbottom #rhm #reginald x rhm #copperight #blood warning #sword #bullet wounds #angry husband

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cambria-writes · 2 years

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Double feature today since these two chapters are so short! I really can’t remember what I was thinking at the time; I’m usually rabid about writing chapters over 2k words long but I guess I was in a rush.

Fun fact: the dog mentioned was inspired by the dog a (late) old man in my old neighbourhood used to walk. At the time it felt like a good idea to include Peeks; Johnny had passed not too long before and seeing his wife walk the dog kind of... you know how it goes.

pairing: jane x named reader word count: 1,390 rating: PG13 warnings: gun violence, very mild swear, let me know if there’s anything else!

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𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕾𝖎𝖝: 𝔉𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔰𝔦𝔞

As soon as you mention Peekaboo's scar, there's a gun. Jane takes several steps back. You scramble for the poor dog. She squirms and claws at your arms. Someone shrieks. You're not sure if you're aggravated or relieved that the crowd disperses.

"Give me my dog back." Gun waves around. Jesus christ what have you gotten yourself into.

"She's not your dog though..?" Hold Peekaboo a little closer. Thankfully she's stopped moving. Gives your arms a break.

"Craig, please, put the gun down," Mr Jane says from somewhere behind you. Not too sure what to think about his leaving you out in the open, either.

"No! No, I just want my dog back," Dog Show Serial Killer Craig demands. You can only shake your head. Staring down the barrel of a pistol isn't doing wonders for your backbone.

Pulls the hammer back on the pistol. You wonder for a second who the hell still walks around with a six shooter, but take a step back.

"Woah! Hey, you shoot at me, you're gonna shoot the dog!" Pull Peekaboo higher against your chest. Feels a little wrong to use a dog for your own safety, but whatever works, right? "You haven't killed any of the dogs yet, right? Why start now?" Trying not to sound too desperate. Probably failing horribly.

The gunshot causes more shrieking. You can't make most of it out from the ringing in your ears. Peekaboo promptly flips her shit, makes it nearly too hard to hold onto. Yelps when you squeeze. Well, maybe if she didn't wiggle like a god damn snake this wouldn't be a problem.

"Okay! Okay, please, just calm down!" Plead, crouch to the ground. The dog seems to be getting ideas. Give her a quick squeeze to calm her down. "Look, I'm not judging you, Craig. I don't understand but I can respect your decisions, alright? I'm not making fun of you." Sit down, cross your legs, curl yourself up around Peekaboo as much as you can.

Still feels like a dick move to turn the dog into the more prominent target but whatever keeps you alive long enough for whoever to save your ass.

"Just, Tommy's niece, right? You've seen her around probably. The black girl in the wheelchair? She's been seeing Peek for months since she can't get a dog herself. She's like a therapy dog to her, y'know?" Scratch Peekaboo under the chin, on the top of the head. Vaguely register the gun lowering.

You have no idea why a blatant lie about a girl needing a dog for therapy is working but you're going with it.

"She's not his niece," but Serial Killer Craig doesn't sound convinced by what he's saying.

You're halfway through going through a half assed explanation about how Tommy's first wife had an adopted step brother who had a kid about twenty years ago when Agent Lisbon—conveniently and magically—appears around the corner of a nearby car.

Shouts at Craig to drop the gun. Serial Killer Craig looks at her, mutters something. Turns back to you.

Oh fuck.

Shit.

You roll off to your right as he pulls the trigger. One gunshot is followed by a second, third. A fourth. The bullet grazes your left thigh and it burns. Don't let go of the dog. Turn to lie on your back, hold her against your chest and try to remember to breathe.

You aren't doing too well with the breathing. Someone off to your right declares Dog Show Killer Craig to be dead. You can't find it in yourself to be relieved. Your ears are still ringing.

Everything sucks.

Someone tries to pry Peekaboo from your arms. Screw your eyes shut, refuse to let go. Jane, to your left, quietly reassures you. Slowly uncurl your fingers from fur. Let go.

"Can you stand?"

Grit your teeth together, try to get yourself standing on one leg. Arms too stiff to hold your weight. Every limb shakes. You're carefully and slowly helped to your feet. Guided to the back of an ambulance. You expect to have the graze treated and be sent on your way, though you're informed you're being taken to the hospital anyways. You don't have it in you to protest.

Jane hops into the back just before you leave. Sits down, doesn't say a word. You grit your teeth in pain the rest of the way.

The hospital is wholly unnecessary and this is what you insist on saying every time someone asks you how you're feeling. You don't check yourself out.

Mr Jane vigilantly remains at your bedside, flips through a notebook. Doesn't look or speak to you for over an hour after you get a room. You're fine with that. You've been given pain killers, some kind of antianxiolytic. Besides the mild throbbing pain in your thigh, feeling pretty good about yourself.

Until you remember Serial Killer Craig's very dead face.

You try not to think about it.

Make an attempt at a nap. Wake up around two hours later, don't feel any better. A nurse pops in to check if you're awake.

"Sorry, the man that was here? Did he leave?"

The nurse smiles, politely. "Mister Jane left just about an hour ago. He left a note for you," unclips a note from the clipboard in her arm. "Said to call him when you felt up to it. How are you feeling?"

Better. Terrified, but better, is the conclusion you arrive at. the doctor who originally treated your wound comes by, runs through the process of after care with you, before eventually discharging you. But only after you very heavily insist.

Now that Dog Show Killer Craig is pretty much out of the picture, you see no problem going back to your apartment. Going to work in the morning... may be problematic. If you can spend the day behind the counter sitting down you figure you'll be fine.

You store the gauze, ointment and waterproof bandages under your bathroom sink. Make yourself a pot of coffee. Getting back to Yuba took far too long. By the time you can finally sit down and relax, it's nearly midnight.

This was not how you had envisioned spending your day.

You slowly sip at your cup of coffee, contemplate the note Jane had left you. Just the barely legible words "yellow tape?" and a phone number which you assume is his. You have no idea what that's supposed to mean.

Don’t turn on the TV. Or the radio. You assume that a serial killer being caught and gunned down at a dog show's going to make the news. You don't want to hear what anyone has to say about it. You especially don't want to know whether or not your name or involvement will be mentioned. You're not sure if you want it to or not. Schrodinger's feelings about murder solving involvement.

You play with your barely-charged phone. Save Jane's number in your contacts. Don't hit 'call'. It's late. You should be sleeping. You've been warned you might have nightmares. Definitely not looking forward to that.

Crack open all the windows in your small apartment. Turn on the TV to some soap opera for background noise. Grab your laptop, open a new Word file, and start writing.

He stands alone on the CBI rooftop when his phone dings with a message. He wholly expects to find Rigsby's drunk-texted him again. Sees a number he doesn't recognize, but knows the general locale of.

FROM: 530-555-2758

SUBJECT: (none)

03:14 AM

It's Skye. Not sure where to start. Yellow tape? What's that supposed to mean? Please reply when convenient.

(Also thank you for leaving your number I appreciate it)

Quickly types out a reply. Silently blesses the technology gods for the T9 function. (How would he ever be able to efficiently and quickly type otherwise?) Flips his phone closed, drums his fingers along the side for a bit. Heads back inside when he doesn't get a reply within five minutes. Assumes you sent the message in bed, halfway asleep. Probably feel embarrassed to message a complete stranger at three in the morning, and scared he might blow you off because of the time.

Smirks. Goes back inside to his desk and his cup of tea. Stares at the strip of yellow duct tape he stuck to the window.

@fucklife-or-me

#the mentalist #patrick jane #patrick jane x reader #named reader #guns #gun violence #gun injuries #fanfiction #fanfic #the mentalist fanfiction #the mentalist fanfic #bullet wounds #kind of #flip phones #should be their own warning i think #archaic and antiquated use of T9 #honey and the hatchet #vague mention of a panic attack #there's hyperventilation anyways

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coffeedrawingandwriting · 2 years

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And here it is!!!

(Warning for blood and wounds, and a gun I guess)

More fanart for @naffeclipse! This time for their fix Trouble!

This one was pretty tricky to get done but I quickly inked the lines and did some basic shading (also pls don’t mind the hands)

Also my web search bar is now cursed because I wanted to be accurate RIP

Next fic to do is In the Club with the Revolver, feel free to suggest a scene to draw cause I’m having a hard time picking one! 😅😂

Cheers!

#art #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #sleuth detectives #detective!moon #detective!sun #vigilante!reader #fic: in the club with the revolver #I’m at a camp right now so that’s why the lineart is kind of crappy #bullet wounds #blood #antique style

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lili-likes-whump · 2 years

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Maybe some bandages

It was rare a day like this occurred. Hero wasn’t used to being free to do whatever for a whole 24 hours.

Nothing from the police.

Nothing from animal control.

Nothing from marine rescue. Nothing at all.

So, when Hero came home that afternoon, after spending the day biking and laughing and eating shortcake bites, you could imagine their surprise to find Villain laying on their couch. “You really need to start locking your door, Hero.”

Hero stood in the doorway, debating on grabbing their phone, keys, even dagger, or just getting the hell out of there. “I wasn’t expecting any visitors. How’s the couch for you? Would you like a sandwich?”

Villain swung their legs off the couch and stood up, pinching their arms and making a high-pitched groaning sound at the back of their throat. “Nah, but I would like a nap, or some bandages.”

“And why, my darling guest, would you need that?”

Villain rolled their eyes. “Maybe because I got shot.”

And that’s when Hero saw it.

The silver sheen that danced on their forehead, how they seemed to take half-breaths before slowly puffing it out, how their whole demeanour was sluggish and tired-looking.

“Oh my god, you could’ve started with that!” Hero took a step to the left, glancing over their shoulder to check if their cell phone was out of their handbag.

“Let me get you some painkillers, then I’ll call an ambulance.”

Hero began to jog over to the kitchen, watching Villain out of their eye. They fumbled through the cabinet, pulling a Panadol tablet out of its packet. “Villain? How you doing? I’m nearly ready!”

No response.

“Villain?”

As Hero rushed back into the living room, they saw Villain standing in the centre, staring at the ground and swaying on their feet. “Hero…” they muttered, closing their eyes.

Hero stepped closer and pulled Villain into a very gentle embrace. “I don’t feel well…” Villain mumbled.

And then, Hero felt their weight drop, so they dropped with Villain, landing softly on the floor with them in Hero’s lap.

“I need to get my phone…”

#bullet wounds #whump writing #whump #hero #villain #fainting #unconscious #caretaking

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ceelibeans · 2 years

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ME AND THE BESTIESSSSSS <3

@bluejaaay

#art #digital art #character design #ocs #casey #boss #nando #boss and nando arent mine #death #bullet wounds

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ctrsara · 2 years

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Discretionary Disobedience

FRIDAY wakes Tony in the middle of the night with an alert that Peter needs some help, even though it’s hours after his curfew. Tangling with the mob is never a good idea, but apparently Peter decided to ignore more than his curfew.

Whumptober 2022 No. 13 - Fractures @whumptober

Part of the post-Homecoming series "Strands in the Rope," which attempts to show how Tony and Peter's relationship might have developed between Homecoming and Infinity War, but can stand alone, also.

#whumptober2022 #no.13 #fracture #Marvel MCU #fanfiction #bullet wounds #fractures #bleeding #post spider man homecoming #tony stark is a good mentor #tony stark and may parker co-parenting #irondad and spiderson #tony stark & peter parker

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mech-a-nical · 1 year

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911, What's Your Emergency?

Composition: Unnamed

Word Count: 2034

Character Focus: Charlotte

The pros of being a murderer outweighs the cons

Being shot by a hot woman is better than dogs' batons

Someone opened fire, bullets ripping through the air, meeting unfortunate targets at random. With the bass boosted music, the first shots were ignored, until bodies dropped to the floor, spraying blood around. Screams rang above the music as customers, dancers, and employees ran from their places, chairs tipping over and crashing onto the floor, bottles and glasses falling from tables and hands, shatters adding to the cacophony of cries.

The majority of people were running away from the front exit, shoving their way to the back of the nightclub. Few others were trying their luck running towards the front, legs crumpling underneath them as bullets were showered into their bodies, while the rest that were not running remained rooted in fear or hiding behind anything they could use as temporary cover.

Charlotte ducked behind one of the pillars that stood throughout the floor of the club. An ornate nightclub had vexed her when both her and her informant had spent countless nights figuring out a plan with the amount of security installed, but as bullets slammed into any possible surface, it seemed that the pretentious decor saved her from eating bullets for dessert.

The same could not be said to the many bodies littering the floor as awkward piles of limbs, the neon lights painting the blood in bright colors. Filled with bullet holes and covered with splashes of bloody gunk, couches and screens also acted as cover for those too cowardly to be with a back exposed trying to run towards the back exit and too scared to run to the front. They stay crunched down or curled up, phones in their hands as their mouths move rapidly.

Dogs will arrive at any moment, and Charlotte needs to vacate before they arrive and find her. She brushes blonde hair away from her eyes as she stands up, placing her hands in front of her for stabilization as she leans to see past the pillar.

Another body hit the floor, and she could see the shooter now that the mob aiming for the front had thinned considerably. A woman was dressed casually, as if she had been lounging arounding and decided to commit a crime out of boredom, holding a handgun, a bag next to her on the floor and multiple guns scattered around her. Short black hair brushed the woman’s shoulders, soft brown eyes opened wide in what could have been considered a picture of innocence in any other scenario. Delicate pale skin was flushed pink, the neon blue and pink lights brushing her in vivid colors.

A shot went off, and Charlotte's body startled, her side that was uncovered due to her peeking jerked backwards when an unbearable warmth rushed through her shoulder.

Mouth open wide, Charlotte pressed herself with her back to the pillar, shielding her whole body. Blood was starting to well up and spill down her arm, she could see her shirt starting to stain.

There was a commotion by one of the couches, and Charlotte raised her head, pressing her hand to the wound, to see a woman stand up from behind a couch and dash for the back door. A woman who looked eerily similar to her target.

Another shot rang out and the scrambling woman crumpled to the floor. Blood was pooling quickly from where the head had fallen, and with a last single glance towards the body, Charlotte looked past the pillar towards the shooter.

The shooter was crouching down, one hand on the gun raised into the nightclub, while her other hand creeped to the bag on the floor.

It seemed that Charlotte was not the only one to get the idea to escape at that moment, as when she pushed herself off the pillar and ran towards the shooter, footsteps could be heard around her.

Wide eyes of the woman behind the gun locked with hers, the gun trained towards Charlotte's head, and Charlotte only ran faster, bracing herself for the shot. She might stumble with the bang of the gun being so close to her, or have her informant get news of her death.

It seemed there had been a third option, as a man arrived faster to meet the shooter, a hand coming down to jostle the gun and when the woman fired, the shot was aimed at Charlotte's legs, where another sensation of ripping hell spread through her left leg.

She bit her tongue, a scream ripping itself between her teeth. Her legs trembled under her, her steps landing heavily on the floor, jostling her shoulder and sending shockwaves up her leg. Blood would start dripping down her leg, and she needed to scatter before she left a trail back to her apartment.

The man probably wanted to be praised as a hero once all this was over, but Charlotte didn't spare him a second glance as she twisted herself to run past the duo struggling on the floor.

Met with a blast of sound and air as she shouldered her way out of the door, onlookers were already crowding the streets, phones in hand, and some started to approach her. She wasted too much inside, and she could see the red and blue lights shining across buildings and the sirens getting nearer, the crowds starting to shift.

Charlotte ignored the cries and screams of people behind her as she bolted down the alleyway next to the nightclub. More people were crowded there, but she pushed her way through, letting the blonde hair cover her face as much as possible. Her hand was still pressed to her shoulder, and her leg was threatening to bring her crashing to the floor.

During their planning, her informant had mentioned various blind points that Charlotte had tested out days prior. With a path in mind, she weaved through the darkness. Her lack of jacket was biting her now, and although the black pants covered the bullet wound in her leg, the white v-neck crop top did nothing to hide the one on her shoulder. This led to angling her body in such a way that if she needed to get out of the alleys, her shoulder would not be visible and she could pass off as a hurried and cold woman going back home. She used the blonde hair to cover it further, lamenting the future discardment of this wig, but blood would be too troublesome to get out of the fake hair.

Charlotte hoped her limping would be misunderstood as well.

Entering another alleyway, Charlotte crumpled against the brick wall. She was far enough away from the club in order to take a moment to rest without fearing for her life, but still too far away from home to make the trip without alerting anyone.

Unsticking her hand from her shoulder, she cleaned her palm as much as she could on her pants, before fishing through the pockets to dig out the modified burner phone. Tapping the number one handed, she swallowed saliva that was threatening to overflow her mouth as dizziness and nausea started creeping into her reactions.

Pressing the phone to her ear, she waited in silence, curling herself as small as possible while continuously checking both entrances of the alley, until the call connected.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“How fitting”, through gritted teeth holding back her cries, she could not help a watery smile at the harshly accented voice of her informant. More blood gushed from her shoulder, and Charlotte could guess her leg was fairing no better, running down in rivulets down her skin. “I’ve been shot, I need- I need a delivery…”

"Multiple bullets?"

The question was clipped, no trace of humor in his voice, although there seemed to be anger underneath, though Charlotte knew for sure it was not aimed at her.

"Two…lots of blood…"

There was silence from his side, and Charlotte was starting to wonder if she should lick her arm to clean off some of the blood when he spoke again, tiredness apparent in his voice.

"Bag deposited three minutes away from your location, alley next to the corner drugstore on your way. Take everything and go home. Alternative transfusions in an early product packet at your door. Don't die."

The call disconnected, leaving Charlotte alone with her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She went limp against the wall, hand clutching the phone weakly as her arm and leg burned. Rising up seemed daunting as the seconds went by, but she knew she was at risk of bleeding out if she remained sitting like a corpse. So with a muffled scream that was reduced to wet gasping, Charlotte stumbled her way to the drugstore.

Lurching into the alley four minutes later, Charlotte found the bag nestled between the trash cans after stumbling around in the dark. Using the light of her own phone was out of the question, since it would give out her location. Interruptions were unwanted as she bent over to rummage through the bag, pulling out a jacket wrapped around a roll of bandages and a smaller roll of medical stape.

With already limited knowledge of bullets and her even more so limited movement, Charlotte left the jacket on top of the bag with the medical tape, holding the roll of bandages with her limited hand as she slowly unwrapped about half of the roll. To cut it, Charlotte brought up the bandage up to her mouth, switching to hold the roll with her available hand as she pulled and teared until she could drop the unused half onto the jacket.

Switching back the bandages to her limited hand, she dropped her jeans, embarrassment forgotten in the face of her wounds. Charlotte proceeded to wrap the bandage around her thigh tight enough to almost cut off the circulation in her leg, bending down to retrieve the medical tape to tear off pieces in a similar fashion to how she cut the bandages.

It was more of a struggle to wrap the bandages around the wound in her shoulders, and Charlotte stared with trepidation at the jacket lying on the floor when she was done wrapping her shoulder with the rest of the bandage. She could barely move her arm without the bandages, but considering how much bandage she used and how strongly she tightened it, it would be difficult to bring her arm through the arm of the jacket, although she could not remain like this either.

…needed to bring her pants back up as well…

Charlotte started laughing once she had finished dressing herself, tears dripping down her cheeks as her prior frustration that had bled out in cut off screams and sobs of aggravation trickled away from her. She was tired, cold, dizzy, nauseous, and incredibly wounded, with half the urge to fall asleep right then and there.

In her agitated state, she was able to start limping again towards her apartment, quiet giggles bleeding out of her, hand clutching the bag.

She was quiet when she stared at the package waiting outside her door, ready to kneel over after she had pulled herself up the stairs to her floor. Truly bothersome that they had decided on a location half an hour away from her apartment by foot. She could barely wrap her head around the trip she just took, the memories bleeding away like blood through her fingers.

Unlocking her apartment room, she leaned down to grab the light package with the logo of the supplement brand she receives monthly. There was an official label stuck on the package with structions written with a pen

Call for instructions.

Charlotte smiled as she locked the door behind her, staggering towards her bedroom with the box and bag in hand.

“In other news, 28 year old woman, Laura Marley, apprehended without trouble two days ago for the shooting at Mirage, one of the few luxury nightclubs in the area, was found dead in her cell this morning. This same morning, information was acquired that she had been the perpetrator behind the string of nightclub shootings and that Laura had been considered missing and dead for some months. Now truly dead, police and investigators are stumped on the motives behind these heinous crimes…”

#2022 #whumptober2022 inspired #oc #fic #blood #violence #guns #bullet wounds #roleplay inspired #Charlotte

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gaeilgeoirgay · 2 years

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Whumptober 2021Day Twenty Five

AN- This is the last part of the price we pay for freedom series

trails of lightning

Wally’s head is pounding from the meta collar. Electricity runs through it in sporadic bursts, and it feels almost ironic that he’s getting shocked when usually he leaves trails of lightning behind him when he runs. He should be used to sparks but it still hurts. Nowhere near as bad as the night he got his powers but still, he’s not the biggest fan of getting electrocuted.

The bullet hole in his abdomen throbs, and he shifts around, trying to ease the ache. He had healed it enough to not bleed out by the time they got a meta collar on him, but he definitely need either medical attention or his healing back soon.

Cain Leftin is lounging on a comfortable looking couch, scrolling through his phone. He had called Aunt Iris earlier and made a deal with her for Wally’s safe return. Wally is pretty sure that Bats and GA can pay the ransom but he would prefer it if the bastard didn’t get any money.

Besides, the man has been taunting him this whole time and apparently his plan is to kill Aunt Iris when she gets here, take the millions and then sell Wally into the meta market anyways and double his cash. Cain is a bastard like that.

Wally knows that Uncle Barry and Uncle Hal would never let that happen and that Uncle Barry is definitely faster than a few measly bullets but he’s still scared for Aunt Iris. She’s like a second mom to him, especially because she understands his need to help in a way his own mom doesn’t. Aunt Iris has experience with Uncle Barry and Uncle Hal, and although she doesn’t like it, she knows why he does it. He doesn’t like to worry his mom but Aunt Iris always listens to him.

“That pretty aunt of yours will be here soon, Wally. How does it feel to know you will be the cause of her death?” Cain says, breaking Wally out of his thoughts. Wally rolls his eyes and doesn’t respond. Cain had seen dollar signs when he found out Wally’s identity, and hadn’t stopped to consider anything beyond them.

Such as the fact that Wally has been an active member of the Team for years and that he has backup in the form of the entire Justice League. And also yeah, the freaking Bat Clan. His and Dick’s relationship isn’t public knowledge but everyone knows that Kid Flash and Nightwing are friends. And Jason likes him too! Wally knows people, okay?

Footsteps echo as Aunt Iris comes into view. Wally hears a rustle above him and looks up as Cain greets his aunt. Connor and Dick wave at him and he grins. He knew they had a plan.

Connor floats down silently and brings his enhanced strength to bear as he snaps the stupid collar with ease. Wally inhales as power rushes through his vein, the Speed Force curling around him like a contented cat, sending electricity sparking off his skin. His wound heals completely and he grins.

Cain whirls around at the sound of the collar breaking and gapes in astonishment at Connor and Wally, sporting identical smirks. A red blur speeds through the room and when it dissipates, Aunt Iris is gone and the Flash and Green Lantern stand in her place.

“You good, kid?” Uncle Barry calls from across the room and Wally nods, stretching out his stiff limbs. The wound in his stomach is healing rapidly, slightly slower than normal, but disappearing fast all the same. He has his speed back too and now he feels like he could do anything. Well, maybe with some sleep and an energy bar first.

Faster than a normal human could blink, Cain pulls out a gun and fires it straight at Wally, who simply steps to the side and watches it arc slowly past. It blows a harmless hole in the wall behind them and Wally smiles.

Three hours ago, he was the wall and he ended up in a meta collar for his troubles. Now Cain is alone, with no henchmen as backup and there’s a group of pissed off heroes waiting to make his acquaintance.

Connor offers his shoulder and Wally slings an arm around him, letting the Kryptonian take his weight. God, he’s tired. His abdomen still hurts and his throat aches from the collar but the lingering pain is starting to dissipate as his healing goes to work.

They watch as Cain tries to shoot Uncle Barry, who simply flicks the bullet away at superspeed, before delivering a strong right hook that knocks Cain off his feet. The gangster falls to the ground unconscious and Uncle Hal makes a construct cell to bring him to the zetas.

Uncle Barry comes over to Wally and Connor, and Wally sinks gratefully into his arms. Uncle Barry swings Wally onto his back like he used to do when Wally was younger. Wally just lets his head drop down and closes his eyes.

There’s a blur of light and then they’re at a zeta booth. Uncle Barry keys in their codes and Wally drops down onto his own two feet for the trip. Dick and Aunt Iris are waiting outside the tube when they arrive on the Watchtower so Wally heads for them, accepting a short kiss from Dick and a long hug from Aunt Iris.

They herd him to the Medbay, Wally barely able to keep his eyes open as the side effects of the meta collar start to hit him properly. Midnite checks his wound, pronounces it mostly healed and orders Wally to get some rest and food. He’s also benched for a week. Go figure, but at least he gets to sleep. Which is probably the point, come to think of it.

They head back to the zeta tubes but are intercepted by Batman on the way. “Kid Flash. Cain Leftin is with Martian Manhunter now and Batgirl is getting to work on his computer. Your identity will be secured soon.” He says gruffly, and leaves before Wally has the chance to thank him.

The zetas drop them a few blocks from the West-Allen-Jordan household and Wally flops into his bed there as soon as he possibly can. Aunt Iris leaves a heaping plate and an assortment of snacks on the table beside him so he eats some of it to regain his strength before snuggling happily into bed with Dick. Aunt Iris had given them a stern look when Dick had gone into Wally’s bedroom and the door is cracked open, but Wally is way too tired for that.

He’s asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

#whumptober 2021 #wally west #electrocution #bullet wounds #fanfiction

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