A whump event set in August, run by @starryybrained!
Write-up of prompts & rules under the cut!
AUGUSTOFWHUMP PROMPTS:
Day 1: brainwashing / heavy / overheating
Day 2: sold off / bleeding heart / bargaining
Day 3: greed / on display / black and blue
Day 4: blurred vision / hallucinogen / haunted
Day 5: shadow / rules / ransom
Day 6: coughing fit / bone saw / seeing red
Day 7: flashback / faint / noxious
Day 8: defiance / distrust / numb
Day 9: simple / disgust / gutting
Day 10: overthinking / meat / memory loss
Day 11: nausea / squeeze / vertigo
Day 12: long day / migraine / mind control
Day 13: countdown / marked / shame
Day 14: lacerations / limping / intubation
Day 15: religious trauma / dissociation / helpless
Day 16: body swap / disorientation / dissection
Day 17: panting / panic / pet names
Day 18: zip ties / taut / torn muscle
Day 19: silenced / stalking / regret
Day 20: car crash / burns / bloody nose
Day 21: ooze / withdrawal / open wound
Day 22: pistol / body slammed / blinded
Day 23: weep / intimacy / immobile
Day 24: sacrifice / unresponsive / recovery
Day 25: force fed / struggle / found
Day 26: unworthy / endless / execution
Day 27: filmed / lies / left behind
Day 28: long gone / gashes / can’t breathe
Day 29: slaughter / undone / love
Day 30: coward / forget / death wish
Day 31: free day (or, “fuck it we ball” day)
ALT PROMPTS:
Afterlife
Self-destructive habits
Food poisoning
Hatred
Treated as an object
Broken bone
Mindfuck
Amputation
Used as bait
Relapse
Apocalypse
GUIDELINES:
Prompts should ideally be responded to in the form of whump
Creators can make any type of media they want (Yes, this includes any kind of media, no matter how niche. As long as it’s creative, it’s allowed)
You can do as few or as many prompts as you like
You can complete these prompts in tandem with any other event or other prompts (such as in combination with Bad Things Happen Bingo, AU-gust, etc.)
DO NOT use ai. I can’t be entirely sure what is or isn’t, but I trust you to at least put some type of effort in your creations. These events are no fun otherwise!
Tag & trigger warn your content accordingly
Yes, NSFW is allowed (and this year you CAN tag me in it! Aka I’m eighteen now baybeee)
Tag your works as #augustofwhump and/or #augustofwhump2025. (No spaces please! From now on I’ll only be reblogging what I find in these specific tags for my convenience.) In addition to that, you can also tag this account — @augustofwhump. I’ll try to reblog whatever I can!
Extra info and clarifications here
EDIT: The August of Whump 2025 ao3 collection is here!
contents: medical whump, surgery, gore, anaesthesia, sadism, yknow just the general stuff
"Please-"
"Please what?" the Doctor asked, hiding a smile under their mask.
"Just- Just put me under for this. I don't want to- I can't do this anymore."
He really was desperate. After days of being denied painkillers, practically slipping in and out of consciousness, his body trying it's best to recover from the previous procedures, he really couldn't take it much longer. Now he laid on the table once again, strapped down for yet an other operation.
As the Patient begged, the Doctor stopped, studying his pained expression, as if contemplating his fate.
"Okay." they said after an uncomfortably long pause, "If you give me a good enough reason, I'll put you under."
"Like- like what?" he asked under his breath. His head spun. He tried to collect his thoughts, gritting his teeth through the pain as the Doctor continued slicing his way inside his abdomen.
"Tell me why I should do this for you."
He let out a groan, shaking in agony and frustration.
"Come on." the Doctor taunted.
"I-I don't fucking know! I can't really think while you're elbow-deep in my stomach."
The painkillers didn't do much, as usually, the dose kept to the bare minimum, only to stop him from passing out on the table. The sensation of being cut open wasn't really something he got used to, no matter how many times he had to suffer through it.
"How about this." the Doctor started, "If you let me take something, I'll give you anaesthesia. The real kind. You'll fall asleep and won't feel or remember anything."
"Take something?"
"Yes. Something from inside you."
"So like- A finger won't do, right?"
"I don't want to start amputating yet."
The Patient would've started sobbing at the implication, the thought of being slowly hollowed out and having all necessary parts removed, eventually ending up as a limbless shell of a human, kept alive solely at the Doctor's mercy. But he did not have the time or the capacity to really think about that.
He instead considered his chances, closing his eyes shut, attempting to ignore the white-hot pain searing through his body. Everything the Doctor could take, they have already taken. His appendix, gallbladder, parts of his liver, his spleen. His tonsils have been removed when he was a child– and he wasn't even sure if that would have sufficed for them.
"A-A rib?" he said, which granted a surprised raise of eyebrows from their tormentor. "I mean- there's not much left in me to take."
"I suppose you're right. Although that would mean an other incision. Apart from the one I've already made." they sunk their gloved fingers in the cut in the middle of his abdomen.
"I'm not- I'm not having you take my guts out. Fuck that."
The Doctor laughed.
"Yes, that would've been my first option. But if you're so dead set on your ribs, we can do that." they said while drawing a syringe full of a white substance.
The Patient laid frozen in anticipation, taking small, hitched breaths to avoid the gash on his stomach causing even more pain. Still, his body shook with each inhale. He waited, his eyes hazed over by tears but still following the Doctor's movements. He watched as they pushed the contents of the syringe into the IV line. Then, he felt the calm wash over him, and for the first time in what seemed like years, his consciousness faded to painless nothing.
Rumi has never really liked being on display as a demon, but when she’s with Mira and Zoey it is easier. She’s quiet the first time they perform since she was forced to show her patterns, patterns she thinks of as scars, she knows she can do it, she has done when it comes to fighting the demons.
She’s quieter still when they come off stage. She still feels on display, still feels the pressure of it all. She’s surprised by how quickly Zoey pulls her into a hug, the warmth of Zoey’s natural sweetness making it easier for her to relax. Mira surprises her with the way she sinks into her side when Zoey releases her, looping a light arm around her waist, she knows, too well, that she’s shaking, Mira’s smile quirks as she glances across at Zoey and pulls her into her side, wrapping them both around Rumi. She had been on display, but it was worth it for this peace that came after.
June of Doom 13: Electrocution + August of Whump 8: Defiance
Masterlist
CW: Electric torture
“You could avoid this, you know. Just do what I want and you won’t have to go through anything more.”
Whumpee just snarled in response.
Whumper shrugged lightly, as if they were agreeing to disagree on what ice cream flavor was the best instead of deciding to torture someone over a totally reasonable lack of cooperation.
Whumper flipped a switch. Whumpee screamed as pain ripped through them. They saw stars. They lost control of their movement as their muscles spasmed.
It went on for several seconds that felt like hours, and then Whumper flipped it back off.
“Changed your mind yet?”
No, Whumpee thought, but didn’t deign to give them an answer. Whumper took their silence as the negative it was.
Again, white, searing pain, and a loss of control over their own body as the electricity ran through them.
“You gonna cooperate now?” Whumper checked in.
Whumpee called Whumper a choice insult, in a voice that was now significantly weaker than their will.
The soreness of muscles overtaxed by electrical stimulation was drowned out by a brighter, more acute pain as Whumper shocked them again. “I can do this a lot longer than you,” Whumper said before turning it off once more. “Either you can give in to me, or we can continue until you lose consciousness.”
Whumpee glared. There wouldn’t be much point in feigning unconsciousness if their reaction to the next bout of electricity would give them away anyway. But they weren’t giving in to this. They would have to hope unconsciousness came sooner rather than later.
August of Whump DAY 3: On Display – Black and Blue
CW: CW: Torture, forced to watch, physical abuse, bound and gagged, self-harm, child abuse (implied).
Moi’s father dragged the chair to one side of the room before pointing at it and looking at his son.
“Sit down,” he ordered.
Moi’s legs trembled, but he obeyed, walking with slow, heavy movements before lowering himself onto the hard wooden chair.
The man then walked over to the table full of tools and returned holding a roll of duct tape. He peeled the edge free and began binding Moi’s wrists behind the chair’s backrest. The young man stayed frozen, not even bothering to struggle, a chill running down his spine at the sharp rip of the tape as it wrapped around him, immobilizing his arms.
“Right,” his father said once he was done. “Now you’re going to stay there. This time you’re going to watch me work.”
The words took a moment to sink in, but eventually Moi’s brain caught up to what they meant.
“What…?”
Before he could say anything more, he was interrupted by Liam’s cry as his father punched him in the stomach. The young man collapsed to the floor, curling in on himself in an attempt to regain his breath. The man straddled him, ripping his shirt off, then grabbed a coil of rope and tied Liam’s wrists in front of him, moving on to his legs right after.
Used to mistreatment, Liam didn’t even try to struggle or defend himself, only letting out muffled protests when a rag was shoved roughly into his mouth and sealed over with a strip of duct tape.
Meanwhile, Moi stared, his mouth open, heart pounding in his chest.
“Dad, what are you going to do?” he asked, swallowing hard. A thousand images flashed in his mind, each worse than the last, each something he desperately didn’t want to see.
“You need to learn, Moisés,” his father said. With another coil of rope, he tied Liam’s wrists and then passed the rope over one of the ceiling beams, pulling and pulling until the young man was lifted, hanging by his arms, his feet just inches above the floor.
With his bare chest showing old marks of abuse, Liam looked like a slab of meat on display at a butcher’s shop.
The man tied the end of the rope to a metal ring in the floor, then gave Liam’s sunken stomach a shove, making him sway forward and back like a piñata.
“Watch closely, Moisés. This is what happens when you disobey me.”
A furious punch landed against Liam’s abdomen. His eyes shot open and a muffled groan of pain slipped past the gag. A second, a third blow followed, then another, and another, and another still.
Moi’s lower lip began to tremble. He tried to get up, but with his hands bound behind the chair’s back, he couldn’t stop his best friend from being treated like a punching bag.
The man kept hitting and hitting. The basement filled with the sound of flesh on bone, skin against skin, Liam’s muffled cries of pain, and Moi’s ragged breathing.
“Dad, please stop, stop!” Moi cried. He had started sobbing, pathetic whimpers escaping his lips no matter how hard he tried to hold them back.
Liam opened his eyes and gave him a sad look.
His father turned and walked toward him.
“You think that just because you ask me, I’m going to stop, you worthless little shit? You betrayed me, and you expect me to forgive you just like that? The only reason I’m not killing that son of a bitch is because I want you to learn, to learn the consequences of your actions, what I can do if you disobey me. I’m going to make him suffer, and you’re going to watch so you learn that your actions have consequences, so you learn never to defy me again. Understood?”
Moi didn’t answer, his wet eyes fixed on his father, more sobs and garbled apologies spilling from his throat.
“DID YOU UNDERSTAND ME OR NOT?!” the man roared. His voice thundered off the four walls like a storm.
“Y-yes!” Moi answered. He took a deep breath and bit his lip.
His father looked at him with disgust and contempt.
“I feel like slapping those tears right off your face, you pathetic little fag,” he spat, before turning back to the table of tools. He picked up a wooden stick, once part of a broom. “You’re going to count to fifty.”
He swung his arm back and struck forward. The wood cracked against Liam’s abdomen with a loud snap. Liam let out a cry of pain. Moi sat frozen, jaw hanging open. Suddenly, his voice wouldn’t come out.
“I didn’t hear you start,” his father said, delivering a second strike, this one to the ribs. The smell of blood rose as skin split open.
“T-two!” Moi exclaimed.
His father gave him a reproachful look.
“Two? I didn’t hear you say One. Start over.”
He delivered a third blow. Liam’s muffled screams of agony grew, and tears slid down his face.
Moi swallowed hard.
“One,” he said. The number burned on his tongue.
Another strike followed, the stick whistling through the air before crashing hard into its target.
“Two…”
Time passed slow and agonizing.
Moi felt like he barely had air to speak, but he forced himself to count loud and clear. If he didn’t, his father wouldn’t acknowledge it.
After the twenty-eighth blow (which was really the thirty-second), Liam seemed to lose consciousness. His head fell limp forward, and he no longer reacted to the pain. Still, Moi’s father made him count all the way to fifty, after which he finally let the stick fall to the floor, now spattered with scarlet.
That’s when Moi broke down crying. His throat burned, felt tight, breathing hurt, his lungs compressed, his face stung as if the tears were acid eating away at his skin—but no pain could compare to the ache in his heart, to Liam’s pain.
Liam still hung from the ceiling, a bloody trophy. The skin of his chest, stomach, sides, and back was raw, stamped with the stick’s shape as though branded, some spots even bleeding. Was he still breathing? Moi couldn’t see clearly through his tears.
Moi’s father lowered Liam, running his hands over the injured skin.
“He’ll just have a few broken ribs, he won’t die,” he announced.
He untied Liam’s hands only to bind them again, this time behind his back, and replaced the duct tape in his mouth with a thinner rag, wedged between his teeth and tied behind his head.
“There. Now you won’t be whining that he’ll choke to death or something,” he said, dragging the limp body over to the mattress in the corner and letting him drop onto it.
He walked over to his son and cut the tape binding him. With a hard yank, he pulled him from the chair and dragged him up the stairs, out of the basement.
“P-please, Dad, let me stay with him, he’s hurt…”
His father silenced him with a single look.
“Wait until next weekend,” he said, shoving Moi into his room and slamming the door shut.
Moi stayed on the floor, dissolving into tears. The pain in his gut made him think it was from hunger, but food was the last thing on his mind—this pain felt like his very existence was being eaten away.
It’s my fault, he repeated in his head.
He imagined Liam waking up alone in the basement, bound and gagged, black and blue, knowing he could have save himself the beating if Moi didn't try to escape.
The young man scratched at his arms, trying to chase away the crawling under his skin. The memories of when his father beat him came back in crushing sensations, remembering the times he had to hide his own black and blue marks, times when Liam was the only one who tried to defend him.
And now Liam was…
Think about that every time you believe you can run away, a sinister voice in his mind said.
Moi had always believed that by accepting this pact, he was doing something good—that he was giving himself a chance to act, to take care of Liam, to keep his friend alive while he looked for a way to escape his father’s control. But now he understood the truth: he had never had any power here. Neither of them had. Moi was nothing but a forced witness to the violence of a father who had never seen him as anything but a disappointment and who, even fourteen years later, still ruled that house with an iron fist and blood.
No, escape was impossible. Moi knew that now.
The young man only hoped that Liam could survive until the next time they saw each other, so he could at least apologize. Saying sorry was the only thing he could do.
To be continued...
Taglist: @spooksydoo
I finally found some inspiration to continue this story! Thanks so much for reading!
Tags/Warnings: Afterlife, Ressurrection, Season 4, Ghost, Magic, Inspired by the Vampire Diaries (books), Reunions
Summary: Camille O'Connell never left New Orleans after her death. When the time is right, she gets a chance to step in and fix everything.
Or. Well. Mostly everything.
Written for @augustofwhump Alt Prompt 1: Afterlife
***********
Camille hadn’t been sure what to expect when she died. She’d died as a vampire, so she wouldn’t get a normal afterlife. No Heaven or Hell for her, if Klaus was to be believed. There was an Other Side for supernatural creatures, but that got destroyed. And Kol had ended up in the ancestral well when he died most recently, but he’d been a witch at the time so that could’ve influenced things.
So, where does Camille O’Connell, bartender turned supernatural therapist turned vampire turned corpse end up?
As a ghost, as far as she could tell.
She could see everything in the compound, though she couldn’t leave it. It’s like there was an invisible wall that anyone but her could pass through. She could see Klaus and Hope and the rest of the family she’d started to consider her own. She could watch, but she couldn’t interfere. It was almost cathartic, getting to rant and rave at everyone without any consequence, but it was just as infuriating that she couldn’t change anything, that she couldn’t help.
She watched as the family crumbled under the weight of the prophecy to destroy them all. She watched as Klaus stood trial to his sireline. She watched has he gave up everything for the sake of his family, for his daughter. She watched as Klaus suffered alone for five years, struggling through starvation and torture with the hope that one day, he could be with those he loved once more. She watched, because there was nothing else she could do.
She spent most of those five years in the basement with him, only leaving on occasion to yell at Marcel whenever he felt like visiting his prisoner. She sat with Klaus, offering comforting words and stories from her own childhood, stories she never got to tell him, stories she wished he could hear.
Sometimes, Klaus looked right at her and spoke to her. Sometimes, she got to tell him he wasn’t alone. Sometimes, she wished to touch him too, to hug him and stroke his hair and kiss him.
Just as often, he would speak to a version of her that only existed in his mind. She answered his pleas for help regardless of who he was talking to.
When his family returned, united again after a five year nap, she cried with joy. Even when she remembered she couldn’t follow him, her smile didn’t fade.
He deserved to be happy. He deserved to be with his daughter, his family. That was all that mattered.
She knew something was wrong before they returned a week later. She felt something new enter this world- or something old, she couldn’t tell. But she knew it was dark, she knew it was strong, and she knew it was only here to cause trouble.
Once again, all she could do was watch.
She watched as they returned. She watched as Klaus struggled with his own inner demons to be the father Hope deserved. She watched as Elijah failed to conceal the cracks in his own psyche. She watched as Vincent battled against a darkness he felt responsible for. She watched as Hayley threw herself in all directions, trying to salvage the family she had just saved.
And watch was all she could do as, for the first time in 1000 years, the Mikaelsons caved to a threat they couldn’t fight.
When she overheard Vincent’s plan to separate the family, destroy always and forever, she knew there had to be a better way. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair that their happiness should be stolen after fighting so long. It wasn’t right that Klaus should have to abandon his daughter after he waited so long to meet her. It wasn’t right that the family should have to leave their home after fighting so hard to save it.
She had to do something. She didn’t know what she could even do, but she had to try.
“Alright, look, I don’t know what counts as upper management around here but I need to talk to someone!” she demanded, staring at the sky with all the rage of a proper Mikaelson. “You stuck me here and forced me to watch everything fall apart, you damn well better give me a way to fix it! This can’t be how it ends!”
“This is the only way, child.”
Camille whirled around and saw and elderly woman standing behind her. Her hair was gray and wispy, her limbs were thinner than chopsticks, and she looked as if a strong wind might blow her over. But the way she carried herself, proud and tall, told Cami all she needed to know.
“You’re a witch.”
“I am one of the ancestors that watches over this city,” the woman confirmed. “We’ve tried to contain this spirit for centuries, you know. But so long as it remains whole, it cannot be defeated. It’s just too strong. Dividing it up was the only way to keep it in check, and even then we nearly lost control. This is our best plan.”
Camille’s eyes narrowed. “You told Vincent about this plan.”
“Yes. Unlike some people in this city, he respects his ancestors, even if he does not always like us.”
“Tell him to call it off! This can’t be our only option!”
The witch sighed. “My child, don’t you think we’ve exhausted every other option? We’ve been fighting this battle much longer than you’ve been witness to. If there was a way to rid the world of this spirit, we would’ve done it by now.”
“There has to be something!” She insisted. “A spell or an attack or something. I mean, it’s just one spirit from one witch. Surely if enough of you got together-”
“The amount of power required for that would be too much,” the witch said. “It would need to be a massive amount of power channeled through a willing conduit. And there’s no guarantee the conduit would even survive…. It’s a risk that no one is willing to take.”
“I am!”
The witch blinked at her, then smiled like a kindergarten teacher wrangling an unruly brat. “You don’t know what you want to agree to, child. What you think you want to risk. Even if you were to survive, there’s no telling what you would be like after. You may be fine… or you may be little more than a doll, your soul wiped out by the sheer amount of power coursing through your entire being. Would you put them through the pain of knowing what you gave up to save people who have cast so much darkness over the world?”
Cami clenched her fists and held her chin high. “I don’t care. They would’ve done the same for me.” For all their faults, they were loyal. Dangerously so. “That little girl deserves a proper family. If getting rid of that thing will ensure that, I’ll do it.”
The witch’s smile did not falter, but something dark flickered in her eyes. “I was really, really hoping you would say that. I knew you were special.”
She was too committed to doubt her choice, though her confidence waned at the look on that witch’s face. “Just tell me what I need to do.”
The witch held out her hand. “Come with me, child. You have a lot to prepare for.”
-----------------------
The moment Klaus stepped into the courtyard for this final moment with his family, he resolved not to take his eyes off his daughter for one second of it. It would be the last time he would ever see her.
This was for the best, he kept telling himself. This way, Hope would live. She would be safe. She could have the full, peaceful life she deserved, not burdened by the blood and sin of her family, of her father.
It pained him more than anything to do this, but he had to. If there was one gift he could give her, one single correct action as a parent he could do, it would be this.
As Vincent finally removed the spirit of the Hollow from Hope, Klaus felt ready. At least, that’s what he told himself.
But before the ritual could be completed, a bright white light blocked out the blue light the Hollow cast over all of them. When the light finally cleared, Klaus searched for Hope. Relief filled him at the sight of her still in her mother’s arms. He never would’ve looked away if not for Elijah’s hand on his arm.
“Niklaus,” he whispered. “Look.”
He followed Elijah’s prompting and looked to the side.
What he saw, he could not explain. If his most trusted sibling hadn’t told him of it, he might’ve believed it was a vision, a hopeless daydream. As it was, he simply didn’t understand it.
Camille- his Camille- was there. Alive, breathing (well, screaming), and fighting with a ferocity that would’ve made anyone wonder if she’d ever truly died at all. She wore a white dress that reminded Klaus of popular depictions of angels.
Beautiful. Powerful. Vengeful.
“You don’t get to have this!” she was shouting. “You don’t get to destroy everything they built, everything they fought for! You are a void! And you will never, ever be happy.”
The Hollow, back in the form of a little girl, was grinning as she dodged another punch. “And how can you be sure of that? What can you do, human?”
“I can blast your ass all the way to Hell, that’s what I can do!” She adjusted her stance, cupped her hands together, and raised them in front of her chest. There was a beat where nothing happened, a beat where Klaus considered interfering, saving her from what would be certain death (again).
Then, the earth shook, a piercing whistle filled the air, and a pure, blinding white light burst from Camille’s hands.
When the light cleared, the Hollow was gone, nothing left but a smoldering black mark on the stone where she had been standing.
Camille was still there. She was panting and swaying on her feet, but she was still there. Still standing. Still breathing. Still beautiful.
“I did it,” she whispered. “It’s over.”
Then, she fainted. Klaus sped over to her, catching her just before her head hit the ground.
“Camille?” he begged softly. “Camille, look at me.” He cradled her face with his hand. “Please, look at me….”
She groaned softly, but opened her eyes with a smile. “Klaus….” With a burst of energy he didn’t expect, she shot up and kissed him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him like he was going off to war, like she would never see him again.
He couldn’t help but return the favor. If he kissed her and never stopped, she couldn’t die again.
Too soon, Camille broke the kiss. She sighed and smiled at him again before her eyes slid closed once more.
Klaus closed his eyes and rested their foreheads together. He listened to the sound of her heartbeat, and waited for the dreaded moment when it would stop once more.
“Niklaus?”
He heard Elijah kneel beside him, and Rebekah joined on his other side. “Is she….” his sister wouldn’t finish the thought.
He did not answer, waiting for her heart to slow and stop. It was taking longer than he thought.
“Niklaus,” his brother tried again. “Niklaus, I don’t think she’s dying.”
Of course she’s dying. Everyone dies.
“I think he’s right,” Rebekah said softly. “She… She’s not dying. I can still hear her heart. It’s strong. I don’t know how or why but…. I think she’s come back to us.”
“Why?” he whispered. “Why should I believe that?”
“Good things do happen, brother.” Elijah said gently. “Come, let’s get her someplace more comfortable. She can explain when she wakes up.”
Somehow, his brother’s utter optimism that Camille would wake up and be able to explain everything made Klaus believe it was possible.
Shifting her into a bridal carry, Klaus stood with his love in his arms and let Elijah guide him back to his room.
@augustofwhump day 18! for @janetm74, thank you for the request! this will be part of a slightly larger Thunderbirds fic that I haven't had time to officially write and edit, but here! a snippet!
The river rages behind him but for just a moment he is still.
His body aches from trying to stay afloat, and if he manages to get out of here without losing anything important, he knows he'll be covered in bruises tomorrow. The banks might not be made of solid rock but that doesn't mean they hadn't hurt when he'd been thrown into them.
Scott tightens his grip on the overhanging branch. Hand by hand, he slowly pulls himself further into the small pool on the side of the river, and then hauls his upper body onto the bank. The ground is wet from the rain and the beginning of autumn is evident in the covering of leaves, all of which slip under the fabric of his suit. He knows if he's not careful, he'll slide right back into the river, and the water is dangerous for more than the way it has battered him about. Hypothermia becomes more of a concern with every passing minute he's stuck here.
But his brothers will be looking for him soon, if they aren't already, and so Scott digs around in his pocket and finds a ziptie. They all carry them, for the obvious reasons of being useful in a rescue but also for the children they don’t trust to hold onto them while getting them out of nooks and crannies and a harness isn't readily available. It may hurt a child to have their ziptied hands slung around someone’s neck, but a hurting child isn’t a dead child, and Scott’s seen enough of those in real life and each time he closes his eyes to last longer than a lifetime.
Scott knows the risks. There will be debris flowing past without end in a river like this and after such a storm, and he knows well how it could hit him and rip him in half in less than a second. But his arms shake when he tries to do anything more than lying on the crumpled leaves, his lungs can't seem to get up enough of the water to function properly, and his watch has been flashing for the past minute. The tracker is active, his brothers will be here soon. He only has to hang on a little longer, and he's willing to take any risk necessary to ensure his brothers don't follow a tracker to the bottom of the river.
The zipcord slips around his right arm and the branch. It's edges cut into his skin. Leaning forward, he pulls it tight with his shaking left hand until it feels secure enough that he could sink into the earth itself.
His brothers will find him. They just need to hurry.
