Otter-chaos-violence - Otter The Otter :3

GUISE

GUISE

IF YOU HIT “X+C” IT SHUTS OFF EVERY GIF ON YOUR DASH

EVERY SINGLE ONE TURNS TO A LITTLE GREY BOX WITH A LOCK

GUISE

TUMBLR HAS MADE ITSELF SAFE FOR EPILEPTICS

PASS IT ON

bleeding and a run

CW: blood (as per title) guns, hospital whump, being really high on morphine in said hospital, slavery mention, asassination mention, ecoli mention, mild swearing,

Tatiana

----

Several people were at my door, a girl with olive skin and a very tall redhead girl that I had to look straight up to meet the eyes of, and she carried a passed out, bleeding-in-many-places Cami in her arms. Cami was almost dwarfed in comparison to this girl. Almost. Cami was about a foot shorter.

My mother and I let them inside, then conversed for a minute in Portuguese to figure out what we’d do, when my mother recognized something about the tall one.

“Wait- are you Night- Claire Malkom’s kid?”

“How do you know her name?” the redhead asked. Her voice had lowered by about an octave.

“You’re little Magdalena? Oh my God, last time I saw you you were so little!”

“I- don’t know you,”

She backed away.

Cami’s eyes slowly blinked open, and she mumbled, “Cuz, where are we?”

“That’s Airi- Ariana’s kid?” Lara said.

Magdalena nodded.

The ambulance arrived, and Lara said, “I’ll call Ariana, okay Magdalena?”

“Okay,” she replied.

Magdalena and the other girl took Cami to the ambulance and didn’t return.

Lara took out her phone and called someone, speaking very rapidly in French. I didn’t speak French, so I didn’t get much out of it, but when she hung up, she said, “We’re going to the hospital,”

We went out to the car, and my mom drove us there, then parked and hugged a tall red-headed woman wearing a knitted sweater and sweatpants. Not ideal for August.

My mother introduced us, and Ariana smiled at me. She seemed ancient, though she looked about thirty. My mom’s age.

A man with dark hair and pale skin, holding the hand of a girl with white hair, extremely pale skin and a red and white cane in her other hand approached us and gasped, “Any update, mom?”

Ariana nodded and said, “She’s in the ICU right now, awaiting surgery,”

She hugged him and said, “Don’t you worry Jon- Xoya, she’ll make it,”

We entered the hospital, and a few hours later, Ariana was told she could go to her daughter’s room now.

We went to Cami’s room, and she lay in the bed, an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose. 

In and out, in and out.

Her wrists had IVs in it, with blood in one, some fluid in another. She had patches on her eyebrow, a bandage peeked out from under the light blue hospital gown. Her hair and the blood were the only colors in the room.

Her eyes blinked open, and I saw liquid gold for a moment, then her eyes dimmed and she went limp again, her arm angled oddly to the point it would be stiff when she woke up.

Ariana moved her arm back to a comfortable position, and she rolled to the side and mumbled, “Mommy, where am I?”

Ariana kneeled close to her and whispered, “Hospital,”

“Really? Did I get ‘im?”

“Get who?”

“Hunter,” she mumbled, “Did he finally realize he needed to leave me alone?”

“I’m sorry, Cams, no,”

She didn’t notice, and squinted up at the ceiling.

“Polaris’s really bright tonight,” she mumbled.

“Cams, we’re inside,”

“Oh, really? Cool,”

—

Cami didn’t come to school for the next week, then returned in a wheelchair. She had bandages on her leg, and she looked terrified of Mr. Simmons now. I couldn’t see why, he was strict, but he was kind and gave us an extension for her not being there.

Not being at school didn’t stop her from working.

She wheeled next to me and leaned on my shoulder, then said in her forever quiet voice, “So, how’s the project going?”

“I have a bunch of photos and info now,”

“Yay!” She sounded slightly louder here.

She hugged me and said, “So, do you think Ms. Delano will be fine with me missing a week of rehearsals and showing up in a wheelchair?”

“Yeah, she’s pretty nice about things like that,”

“Thank god, last teacher I had got mad at me when I was hospitalized with E. coli O157:H7,”

“What?”

“E. coli on steroids,”

“Yikes. My mom told me about an E. coli outbreak when she was eight that killed some of her friends,”

“Damn,”

“Yeah, my mom said there wasn’t much access to hospitals at the time,”

We went back to work and I realized, I had no idea where my mother grew up or lived before here. Just that she grew up in a communidade, or favela if said by the upper class people. The places where the descendants of former slaves ended up because the government failed to provide for them.

I texted her about it when I got out of Mr. Simmons’ class, and she said about an hour and a half later, an entire other class passing, ‘It's a complicated story, one I’ll tell you someday.’

Someday. A nice promise, although non-definitive.

After Chem was over, I went to lunch, and Moon brought her friend Marina over. We tolerated Marina, not some of Moon’s other friends who’d annoyed all of us, and certainly not Kira, who enjoyed spouting slurs and getting scolded by everyone else about it.

Even Moon barely tolerated her.

Kira decided to come over. She had dyed snow-white hair to match her white ears and tail, and at the time, she wore all dark colors, an odd contrast.

She slammed her hands in front of Cami and hissed at her, and Cami ignored her. 

“I’m talking to you,” Kira snapped.

Cami looked up with a bored expression and said, “Could’ve sworn you weren’t talking,”

Kira’s left ear twitched and her lip curled into an animalistic snarl.

“Shut up!” She snapped.

“You’ve done most of the talking,” Cami remarked.

Kira’s hair and tail bristled, and Cami looked up at her for a moment, and I saw a golden glow for a split second.

Kira opened and closed her mouth, then hissed, “How dare you?”

“How dare I what?” Cami asked, her tone just as gentle as when she started talking.

“You know what I mean!”

“I really don’t,”

Kira snarled louder and called her an awful word. 

Cami’s expression hardened, and she snapped, “You’re lucky I can’t stand right now,”

I heard rain above, even though the weather could normally be seen for miles, and there was no trace this morning. Lightning struck right outside the school, and I jumped when I saw the burning almost-white light hit a tree. Murmurs of worry echoed through the cafeteria, and at our table, all but Cami looked spooked. Cami, instead, looked exhausted and tilted to the side with the next lightning strike. She stayed upright because of the wheelchair’s seatbelt, but we weren’t sure what to do. As the storm continued, her breathing slowed, and eventually, just as quickly as it began, it ended, and she opened her eyes and gasped for breath, almost choking.

Almost, thankfully. She was fine after a moment, just- off. She didn’t know what was going on until we filled her in.

Then she wheeled away, took out her phone and texted for a moment, then returned.

The bell rang, and I tried to ask her what happened, and she blew me off and said, “It’s nothing, I have… narcolepsy,”

Liar.

But I didn’t press.

I didn’t change how I spoke to her, either, it was her business, not mine.

When class went out for the day, she went straight to the theater after giving me a hug, and I went to the bus.

Cami

----

“So, what happened?” Addy asked.

“I got shot six times,” I replied.

“Oh.”

I wheeled myself to the edge of the stage, tried my hardest to hop up, only for pain to shoot through my arm, and I fell back down.

I got back in the chair and wheeled the long way, through the back. Thankfully, there was another way, through the chorus room.

I had to be careful wheeling down the ramp in the room and wheeled backstage.

Eli was doing the first scene. The play we were doing was an old classic from back during the first Civil Rights movement, a love story suggesting that shifters get equal rights as well. Most involved in the movement agreed, but the humans in charge at the time sucked and said no. The vice president at the time was actually assassinated by a member of congress for pushing for a shifter rights bill in 1968. So we waited for twenty years for the second movement, and that one, humans finally relented and now the kenomi and dragon-folk had rights. The dragon-folk often lived in the packs, however, and often didn’t care. Olivia was one of the non-traditional dragon-folk, both physically, as a more unique thing that couldn’t fly, and mentally, she had a dream, and she longed to make sure that no one would ever forget it. She wanted to make it safe for all of us to return as ourselves. 

Eli shifted as the script said and a voiceover would allow them to speak on the show night. Many shifters couldn’t speak in our animal forms. I wasn’t one of them who couldn’t, I just didn’t enjoy doing so, it felt weird.

When they got off the scene, they high-fived me and said, “How’d I do, Critura?”

“Great!”

I looked at my book as I wheeled onto the scene, in the middle of the other’s monologue as the book told me. Seeing my wheelchair, it threw my scene partner, Sebby, off a bit, but he quickly stopped his surprise and continued the scene. I got to tell his character off for being an ass, as I’d adopted Eli’s character, Jenny.

It was really fun.

He stood there, character dumbfounded for a moment, and we exited in opposite directions. Me, stage right, him, stage left. 

I didn’t have to go back on ‘til scene four, an ensemble scene in which people were gossiping while I told Eli’s character to go straight to the press about the mistreatment at work. 

Eventually came four o clock, and we all had to go, and I wheeled out when Xoya called me. They and their girlfriend, Winter, were in Xoya’s SUV, and Winter looked in my general direction, smiled, and greeted me when I got in the car.

We didn’t talk much of the drive, though I wanted to tell them everything that had transpired.

Don’t worry, Cams. Xoya’s mental voice touched my mental form. 

“Don’t do that,” I said, “Its weird,”

“Well, if you bothered with the exercises I gave you, I wouldn’t be able to,”

I threw up a wall of my magic internally, solid rain dust, almost like what littered the ground after that storm I’d accidentally caused. That beautiful dust didn’t always come, but when it did, you could tell exactly where I exploded.

Xoya dropped me off at the gravel path, then started their journey back to theirs and Winter’s shared apartment. I walked up, then got inside and went into my room, and lay back on my black and navy-blue bed, the only orderly part of my paint splattered walls. All had meaning, yet to most, it looked eccentric.

My closet was black, the color black helped me to calm down. Unfortunately, I didn’t have my calming, black leather jacket anymore because of the amount of times I was shot in the torso the week before. My ceiling was navy blue. The color for sleep.

I’d go over the rest, but I wouldn’t have the energy to write all that, so just imagine an abstract painting of all colors. And I do mean all of them. Every color I knew.

I peeled off my shirt and traced the old scars that ran down my torso to my thigh. The long gone pain that made me feel as I made my former friend feel.

I missed Hunter. I wondered if Marina missed me, if Hunter told her. I wasn’t about to ask, on the chance she got scared and stayed away.

I pulled myself onto my bed and shifted. I got off and walked out the room, and I walked through the woods. I was strong in this form, and I needed to stretch my legs.

—

I lay down on an angled log and ate some termites and probably decimated the population while I was at it, but I couldn’t help it. It tasted like wood grilled meat, although I wasn’t sure what kind.

Someone approached me, and I looked up and saw Lyorna and Lizzie, about three hundred feet away. Lizzie was so excited and kept bouncing up and down, but I wanted to be alone.

I stood and padded away, and heard Lizzie following after me, despite Lyorna’s protests about how it was probably a bad idea to touch a wolf.

The Critura of the Snowdrift pack eventually managed to lead Lizzie away, and I decided to return the favor. I stalked them for about an hour before the wind changed, and Lyorna looked right at where I was in the shadows and giggled.

“Lena, what’s up?”

“Just thinking,”

I emerged and let Lizzie touch me, as she so clearly wanted, then I continued on my walk, laughing.

I lay in some sand and rolled around, when I tasted human on the air.

I went underwater, then rolled until my dark patches were on top, careful not to let out my oxygen. I occasionally craned my neck to poke my nose out, breathe out and in, and lower it again.

Something grabbed me, and I twisted, kicked, then swam to deeper waters. My feet couldn’t touch the ground in my human form, I doubted what grabbed me could. A fish passed by, and I resisted the temptation to eat it as I kicked to stay above water.

On the opposite shore, I saw several people, but I have pretty bad vision. But I recognized the scent of them and swam towards them.

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The whumpee, even through their hazy, brainwashed mind, protects their old friends. They don’t know why, but they’d go to the end of the Earth for these “strangers”.

served my duty as an autistic artist and made a bunch of autism creature reaction images

TW: Medical whump

Some medical whump prompts!

Whumper getting whumpee forcefully addicted to some drug or medicine that causes severe withdrawal symptoms when taken away. More points if that drug is some kind of hallucinogen that makes whumpee panic as reality around them distorts (at least they’re not dealing with the agony that comes with not having it, right?).

Non-consensual body modification. Whether it be giving whumpee non-human features like wings sewn on or an animal’s horns surgically attached, then whumper mocks them for being such an animal.

Forcing whumpee to undergo starving themselves to get a ‘perfect body’. Whumper praising them for looking like a skeleton, and that becomes internalised until whumpee does nothing but check their calories all day. Whumper starts getting whumpee fillers and injections but when one gets botched and whumpee turns out ‘ugly’, they’re abandoned.

Whumper playing pretend that whumpee is ill and ‘taking care of them’. Forcing a feeding tube down whumpee’s throat, attaching a catheter to them, stabbing an IV into their veins and pumping them full of fluids and sedatives to make them docile, putting them on a ventilator, etc. When they escape they have trouble with mobility, breathing on their own and holding their bladder because of this, and now the actual caretaker has to take care of a whumpee that should have been healthy all along (medical treatment now triggers whumpee’s trauma though).