If something or someone bites you, pulling away while their teeth are in you will cause them to rip out a chunk of flesh. The proper way to get something or someone off of you is to push into their mouth and force them to release.
If one leans into a bite in time, the resulting wound may look more like an abrasion or very nasty bruise rather than a puncture wound.
Human bites are more dangerous than most animal bites due to the type of bacteria and viruses humans can carry.
Punching someone’s mouth is inadvisable since a hand can become seriously mangled on teeth, and potentially become infected.
The longer someone waits to clean a bite wound, the more likely the chance of infection.
Depending on what part of the body has been bitten, the bite can also cause painful bruising and swelling in the area.
Riskier places to be bitten include the hands, wrists, feet, ankles, and face due to the potential for nerve damage and fractures.
In minor bites, the bruising will probably hurt more than the skin being broken, especially if a vein is burst in the process; but due to the broken skin, will be extremely tender to the touch and to any ice or cold water applied to the area.
Bites can still break the skin even through multiple layers of clothing, but contact with saliva will lessen with more, thicker layers.
If the bite occurs over clothes, the clothes in the affected area will be stretched (with puncture impressions) or torn.
A crocodile will roll after biting its prey to rip off the limb. The only way to survive a crocodile death roll is to hug the crocodile.
If someone is bitten by an animal of unknown medical history, the person will need to get a series of vaccines to prevent rabies. If someone has rabies and starts showing symptoms, they are already dead.
Symptoms of rabies include throat spasms which cause a severe and entirely debilitating fear of swallowing fluids, including their own saliva, which is why rabid animals (and people) foam at the mouth.
wanted to finish a small doodlepage of kid!Waluigi*, so have this i guess?
(*using his present self's name, still need to figure out his pre!memory loss headcanon-y one lol-)
quick headcanon-y rambling about this under read more:
long headcanon-y story short; Waluigi's the youngest of his family, and was usually the one causing the most trouble around the town he was raised in.
he DID mellow out at least a little bit in his teens, since he had an outlet for his chaotic energy via various high school projects he got into.
(though that was also the time his growth spurt kicked in, and he basically became a human spider plant so-)
also say kind of hello to his older brother (well, his arm) in the biting bit.
i still need to HEAVILY work on him + the rest of the family's concepts. so if i ever do show him fully and he looks completely different from this small tease uh- oh well.
it also goes W/o saying, but just in case-
i'm going w/ current/public Nintendo canon as of posting and don't consider Wario and Waluigi brothers
(in fact i headcanon Waluigi as the older of the two + Mario Bros by a least a few years-)
so that's the main reason Wario's not here. since at this point they haven't met or know abt each other at all. (and not for a while. since Waluigi's like…5? in the main two doodles here?)
anyway, i'm done rambling about this, cya later i guess?
“... I seem to only see you when I don’t feel well,” I moaned, my eyes fluttering open.
Kara smiled wryly from her chair next to my bed, a cold hand drawing to my forehead to check my temperature. “I am rarely called away from my usual duties, and only to care for you, after all.”
I matched her smile with my own, knowing she was just as powerless against the lord as I was. “Do you think he would be angry if I requested to see you?”
“You mustn’t do that,” she chuckled, seemingly knowing just how ridiculous such a request would be. “But I’ll stay by your side when I can.”
I winced as she slowly pulled away a bandage, frowning at the reddened wound underneath. “I worry that you’ll become infected with so many bites.”
“Will he leave me be if I do?”
She glared at me, half angry and half saddened. “... I will try to clean them as best I can. But you,” she turned to the side, pulling a tray with a bowl of unknown origin from the side table, “must eat.”
I grimaced, slowly pulling myself into a sitting position. “What are your usual duties?”
“I work in the lord’s office. Though, really, I’m more of a courier than anything else.” She stretched the tray over my legs, gently placing it down where I could spoon the liquid into my mouth with ease. “I’m working around the lord often, so that’s probably why I was assigned to care for you.”
I wrapped my fingers around the spoon, staring at the contents absently.
“You have to eat it for it to go away.”
I jolted, smiling embarrassedly, before taking my first sip. I blinked, surprised by how sweet it was.
“It’s made with apples and sweet squash,” Kara laughed, reading my expression as she always did. “I thought you might like something tasty.”
Green approached the now placid avian who laid motionless other than their breathing. A high fever had taken over their body after receiving a ugly bite from a canine pack member. At first Green had been convinced they were faking being ill to get sympathy. But after a few days of keeping up the charade it was apparent now that Drew had gotten very sick.
He pressed a hand to the other avian's forehead which made them flinch and let out a weak chirp. They looked over their shoulder at Green and even in their ill state tried to bite him.
Green shook his head and sighed, "you don't know when to behave do you?" He grabbed one of the leather muzzles from a hook on the wall and buckled it over Drew's face. He gripped the sick avian's face and glared at them, "Behave. Got it?"
Even in a weakened state Drew glared at him but reluctantly nodded. They were released from the grip and flopped back down onto their small nest of pillows. They watched wearily as Green began changing the bandages on their leg. They gave a grunt of discomfort and squirmed as the green avian began to clean the bite wound.
Green purposely ignored the soft whimpers as the antiseptic stung and cleaned the deep wound. Deep down he knew what he was doing was wrong and harmful but the money was good and he admittedly enjoyed the job. The only real issue was this stubborn golden avian from the coast, always known for being so beautiful but not being too bright. He shook his head as he came back to reality from his thoughts.
He decided to give Drew one small comfort while they were sick, but only this once. His hand gently combed through the golden blonde hair and made its way to affectionately caress their warm cheek. He watched as Drew leaned into the kind touch almost immediately and huffed a soft sigh.
How deprived of contact did they keep them? He wondered to himself as even the one avian that hated his guts and would gladly rip him apart if given the chance, soaked up the tender touch like a sponge.
He finished cleaning their leg and bandaged it back up to help it heal faster. He would be sure to slip some fever medication into the avian's dinner tonight… and maybe some sedatives to keep them quiet for the night. He pulled his hand away and could hear the misery in their sigh as they yearned for the touch return. He got up and gathered his supplies.
"I'll be back to give you dinner. Be good." He ordered as he left. He locked the door and went to go start preparing dinner.
Killan Josta, World’s Saddest Boy, gets... a moment with a rabbit. Killan exists in @wildfaewhump‘s Iesin and Talvos universe!
CW: Referenced beatings/whipping, ill-treatment, debt-slavery, referenced animal death although none occurs during the piece
Tagging @quirkykayleetam who asked to be tagged for Killan, plus @finder-of-rings, @burtlederp, and @astrobly who asked to be tagged for ‘everything’
Killan couldn’t tell if the rabbit looked scared, or just… resigned. Either way, he knew the feeling.
The poor thing had stepped right into the little trap that Vanya had built for it, boiled and soaked wood to get it soft and pliable and then bent it into a kind of box that resembled all the bushes around it, especially when he’d covered it with some leaves and brush. A bit of bait right in the middle, and then you wait for something to creep in for a bite.
Then, crash! The little door he’d made fell down, trapping the rabbit inside. It had thrashed around for a while, but it was quiet now. Feet pulled close, chest puffed a little bit, ears flat against its head laying against its own back. Thin like wild rabbits are, but not too thin.
Vanya had a whole row, six or seven cages just like this one. The last round of traps had gotten them a fox - which had bitten Killan when he tried to feed it and good riddance to bad rubbish as far as he was concerned, foxes were nothing but bad luck anyway - and three rabbits. The other traps had come up empty, but Beron and Ren had brought down three deer between them in the time they’d spent in these woods, caught two river-eaters, plus six of what Beron called ‘fur-rats’ that made poor meat but their fur meant something enough to the rich that they could eat for a week (well, everyone else could) on a single sale.
Plus, Tinch had caught a real living hawk with a reddish tail and a mean beak, and meant to teach it to fetch. Their haul to bring into town would be a good one.
Ren would sell the hides and fur separate from the meat, he claimed to know the tanner in the next town, could get a good price for them. Fur-rats made poor meat but they knew well enough that Killan would eat anything he was given, too hungry to care what it tasted like at the end of the day, so they’d smoked and dried that, too, to pack away with some fat and crushed-up berries and seeds.
He was chewing idly on a bit of the foul-tasting nastiness - the kind made from deer meat was good, this tasted like mud fed on poison - while he fed the rabbits in their cages and found his gaze caught by the last one.
It had big liquidy eyes, one on either side of its head, so it could only really look at him with one or the other.
Prey eyes, Beron called them. He’d sat Killan down once and shown him that the foxes had eyes both to the front, like people do - and the rabbits had one on either side. Hunters like us, like wolves - we see to the front, because we focus on what we’re going to bring down. Prey like that has to see every which way so they see us coming.
Might be nice to have an eye on either side. Killan might get fewer surprises, then.
Its fur was a kind of grayish-brownish-reddish mix, the exact shade of a sun-dappled grassy meadow. It could use those hind legs to run and jump and hide, faster than Killan could ever run. Its little nose twitched in his direction and he wrinkled his nose back at it, grinning around the food in his mouth. At least they mixed berries in - now and then a bite was nothing but sweet. It made the rest of the bitterness easier to handle.
“What do I smell like, bun-bun? Huh?” The rabbit didn’t answer, of course, but Killan watched with surprise as it shifted slightly closer to him, an oddly thoughtful look on its fuzzy little face. “Do I smell like prey, too? Or like wolves? I’m not like them, I promise.”
The rabbit’s nose kept twitching, and Killan leaned in closer, moving down into a crouch so he was eye-level with the cage where it sat stacked on top of another one. Somewhere behind him, the men who owned his life were laughing and joking as they set up their camp for the night, for once giving Killan a little rest instead of making him do it all himself.
Ren had felt bad about the fox bite, currently hidden under bandages wrapped around Killan’s left wrist. I’m not a cruel man, Matti, Ren had said, and Killan hadn’t argued with him. Hadn’t pointed at the scars on his back and his legs and his front, or the little scar on his head from the first week. He could hide that one with his hair, mostly.
He hadn’t even mentioned how cruel it was to take someone’s name away, so almost three years on he had to remind himself of what his name was every single day, had to wake up whispering I’m Killan Josta, I’m Killan Josta, I’m Killan Josta as he got more and more afraid he’d become Matthias, not just answer to it.
He’d only nodded, and tried not to scratch at the itches under the bandage, and Ren had given him the night off, then. Didn’t even have to cook, it was Beron chopping away with his big heavy knife, cleaving meat from bone to toss into the stew. He would’ve felt nice about that if it didn’t mean Killan probably wouldn’t get to eat tonight.
Killan shifted, blocking the rabbit’s view of the cooking-fire, not that it mattered all that much if it saw what had happened to another rabbit it probably never knew. Who even knew if a rabbit could even see so far?
It shifted closer then. And closer again.
They were so close Killan’s eyes crossed a little trying to look at it. He stuck a finger into the trap and it held perfectly still as he traced a fingertip over the fine soft fur at the top of its head, the silken feeling of its long flat ears. He expected it to start shivering - he’d seen shaky little scared rabbits right before their necks were wrung.
This one didn’t shake. It looked at him calmly, like it knew him. It looked at him like, hello, you belong out there with us, not here with them.
Killan bit down on his lower lip, then winced as that pressed on a busted spot from the last thing he’d messed up. “I wish I was out there with you,” he whispered, leaning in close. “I wish I was in the woods somewhere. I wish I could go destroy all their traps instead of helping build them. I promise.”
“Wish?”
Killan stiffened, looking up and blinking. “What?”
The others were busy, no one even heard Killan speak, and none of them had heard it - a hissing sibilant whisper-sound, that seemed to be as much inside his mind as outside it. He turned to look over his shoulder, seeing nothing around their little campsite but the trees, looming eerily overhead at the sun went down.
“Make wish.”
Killan slowly turned back to stare at the rabbit, which held itself so perfectly still under Killan’s petting fingertips. He leaned forward, as close as he could get, until his forehead rubbed up against the twisted wood. The rabbit leaned slowly forward too, and Killan caught his breath as its soft, cool nose brushed, with little twitches, against his own.
“Pretty,” The voice said. “Pretty human boy.”
Killan had been living for years with Beron’s stories of nature magic and the dangers of the mountains and the monsters who lived there. He’d been raised on his own mam’s stories of wild women who could change shape and sneak into bad childrens’ houses and steal them from their beds. But he was grown now, or as good as, and he had no fear of those stories.
Right?
“Are you the one talking to me?” Killan whispered to the rabbit, which nudged forward against him again with its little twitching nose. Killan held his breath as the rabbit pushed its head up into his two fingers pressed to its soft ears, which no wild rabbit had ever done that he knew of. “Do you want me to make a wish?”
“Make wish, pretty human.”
Killan smiled - small so the others wouldn’t see, but there all the same. He leaned in as close as he could get, lost in the way the rabbit looked at him so calmly, so sure of itself even though it was trapped in a cage, to have its neck wrung to make a good dinner soon enough, just like the other one that Beron was tossing into the stew while singing to himself, just a dozen or so feet away.
“I wish that you would be free,” Killan said, as low as he could speak and still be audible. “You don’t deserve to be soup.”
The rabbit didn’t speak to him again, but it did nuzzle up against him once more, to Killan’s delight.
Then Beron yelled at him to stop being lazy and do some damn work for once in his life, and Killan pushed himself up on aching legs to stumble over and help Beron put together the bit of ground-up dried treenuts and water and salt for the dumplings to cook on top of the soup.
They’d given him the day off work, but if you don’t work you don’t eat, so Killan ate the bit of treenut-bread they’d given him out of mercy and watched them with their bowls of rabbit stew jealously from his bedroll, stomach growling, and determined himself to work even harder to get more food tomorrow.
He was so hungry it took forever to get to sleep, the fire banked and Ren and Vanya on first watch, and he only got a couple of hours before it was his turn to sit up with Beron, who was in a foul mood. Bad dreams, he said.
Killan mostly didn’t dream any longer - sleep was too precious to waste on dreaming.
Killan took his ill-tempered ‘jokes’ in silence and thanked him with real gratitude when Beron got tired of that fucking kicked-dog look like we don’t take better care of you than a lazy arse deserves and gave him more of the fur-rat and berry bars to eat.
Killan made it through half of the bar and then looked up, into the dark woods that pressed close around them. The horses were restless tonight, ears flat against their heads and shifting until their ropes were pulled tight from the trees, but they never liked the woods much so that wasn’t unusual.
The animals in their cages were restless, too, shivery little rabbits and and the fur rats clawing at the edges of their cages.
Killan checked on his favorite rabbit - it was perfectly still, but alert, head head and neck stretched, looking away from Killan entirely. When he turned around to follow the direction of its gaze, he could have sworn he could the glint of yellow eyes watching him in the dark.
He should have been afraid, but he wasn’t.
Instead, Killan stood up, walked to the edge of what little light the fire still gave off, and set the uneaten half of the bar down. A gift for-... for the woods, maybe, they’d taken better care of him than any person ever did, anyway.
His watch ended and Killan fell asleep more quickly with the heavy weight of at least some food in his stomach. He curled in his bedroll as small as he could make himself, and he did not dream.
When he woke up the next day, to Beron’s shouting and Ren kicking him awake gasping for air and scrambling to stand, one of the cages had been busted open. Only one cage, all the others still held the trapped animals shaking and shivering. But Killan’s favorite, the rabbit that had kissed him the day before and been so still, was gone.
So was the half-bar of food he’d left at the edge of the camp.
Killan’s eyes were wide as saucers as he stared at the wood twisted back out of shape or broken, somehow done in silence while they slept, never waking them at all.
He could have sworn he heard a kind of laughter whispering through the trees above his head.
Characters: Travis Stoll, Connor Stoll, Will Solace
Pining in a more platonic sense.
Summary: A hellhound grabs Travis by the leg and whisks him to who knows where.
Travis goes on tons of quests and all those times, he made it out a-okay with little to no problems. Facing chimeras, empousas, cyclops with his brother by his side and Katie on the other, their success rate is near 100%. Why is it, when he finally got a quest with Will, everything goes wrong?
First, the car they were using to get to California broke down midway.
Second, while stranded in the middle of nowhere Utah, a harpy stole their ambrosia reserves (well, his).
And now, third, a hellhound has his leg in it’s maws and is currently dragging him through the shadows going who knows where.
Definitely not his best day.
He tries to stab his celestial sword into the hind leg, but the hellhound’s canines dig deeper into his thigh and the sword falls from his hands. He tries to stab his Swiss Army knife into the joints, but the skin is too tough for a normal blade. Then he tries to bite and that did absolutely nothing too. So he resorts to his very last tactic.
Hermes is the God of animal husbandry. Hellhounds are just big dogs! Big, cuddly dogs just like Mrs. O’Leary except this one destroying his leg is more on the wild side. Yeah… just a big dog.
“Down, boy!” he screams and he feels a tug in his chest cavity, but the hellhound continues running.
Travis takes a deep breath, willing the fear to leave his voice, and say it again. “Down!”
The hellhound falters, but barely and Travis yells again, the tugging becoming painful. This time the hellhound exits out of the shadow.
Cold. That’s the first thing he noticed. The frigid air, the biting wind, the snow softening his fall, but is quickly becoming stained with his blood. The hellhound still have his leg in it’s jaws and he orders the hellhound — henceforth known as Bolt for his favorite Disney dog — to let go of his leg. Bolt whines and his ears flop back. Travis didn’t know hellhounds can be so cute. And if it isn’t his leg in it’s jaws, he might have gave in.
But he steels his voice and say it again with more force. “Let me go now.”
Bolt lets go. His leg fell on the snow. Pain wracks his body and almost renders him unconscious. It is only the sound of Iris the Rainbow Goddess saying he has a message that keeps him awake.
“I accept,” he groans.
“ — avis?! Travis!? it picked up! Will, it picked up!! It actually worked!”
“Travis? You’re alive. I can’t believe it. I — your … leg.”
“How bad does it look?” he asks, not daring to open his eyes.
“It looks fine,” Connor fibs the same time Will says, “You are going to lose your leg.”
He thinks Connor might have shush Will. But he isn’t sure. He can’t hear anything above his gasping. Ahhhh… it’s so hard to breathe. The air is too thin.
“Travis, where are you? Wait, is that snow I’m seeing?”
“Yeah,” he hisses out. The pain is starting to dull. He rolls his head to the side and opens his eyes to see the vast field of white with a few pine trees in sight. He can hear Bolt panting and pacing, the snow crunching under his massive paws. Placing his elbows underneath him, he pushes himself up and ignores the black dots dancing in his vision.
He very pointedly not look at his leg and instead looks at his surroundings. Snow. Trees. Snow. More snow. Lots and lots of snow. His teeth chatter. The flimsy camp shirt isn’t enough.
“I’m somewhere without civilization,” he chatters, “I-I don’t see any houses or buildings nearby.”
“You need to find shelter,” Will stresses. “Or you’ll die from hypothermia. But first, you need to stop the bleeding.”
“I don’t want to look at it,” he whines, tucking his hands under his armpits.
“Well, you’re gonna have too.”
I don’t want too.
He gestures for Bolt to come closer, but forgot to say the crucial order to not eat him. By the time he finally did, Bolt had already tackled him, pinned him on his back with a paw on his chest, and has its jaws around his shoulder.
“Get off!” he commands, pushing at the neck.
Bolt withdraws, but a paw is still at his chest and Travis need to give a separate order for that.
“That hellhound is still with you? Stab it!”
“I lost my sword,” he whines and orders for Bolt to come beside him. “Lie down, Bolt. Lie down.”
“You named it!?”
Bolt listens quicker this time, plopping down onto all four. Travis tries not to whimper as he claws his way onto Bolt’s back. The Hellhound is cold. Not as cold as the snow, but still very, very cold.
“It listens to you? Make it take you back to us.”
Oh what a great plan. He was originally going to make Bolt take him to a hospital, but to his brother and Will is much better.
“Bolt, let’s go back to my friends,” he says, watching the puffs of air. There’s a whine that sounds almost like a ‘what?’ and he says it one more time, concentrating, “Back. To my. Friends. Bolt. To… to Utah.”
Bolt didn’t whine, but it didn’t move either and Travis is losing his focus. He doesn’t have the strength for this. “Bolt, come on, please. Move.”
Bolt breaks into a running start, but it isn’t shadow traveling and god, please help him. Every jolt shakes his leg and sends a mind-breaking shock to his brain. Please pass out, his brain begs him. But his heart and the mini-Connor on his shoulder tells him to tough it out. He digs his fingers into the fur, taking a deep breath, and screaming, “Go to Utah NOW!”
The tug in his chest felt like it broke a couple bones, but Bolt finally jumps into a shadow and Travis closes his eyes and wills the nausea down. This second trip feels very short. Just a few seconds in and they are out.
Travis opens his eyes and finds himself in a dirty alleyway, not the full parking lot where Bolt snatched him from. He wants to sob. “This isn’t Utah. Take me back to my friends, Bolt.”
But Bolt sits down and paws his shoulder — his bitten shoulder.
He shoves the paw away and rubs it’s chest, muttering, “Okay, okay, good job. You… did a good job taking me out of the cold. But I need … I need to get to my friends. Please, Bolt. I think I’m dying.” He wonders if that's such a great thing to say to a monster itching to eat him.
He’s dimly aware of a woman’s voice saying something. Something about a … a … mail? Message? Whatever it is, he hopes she understands his slurred, “I accept.”
He hears two panicked voices, but he can’t understand what they’re trying to say. It’s so cold. And he’s so tired.
Get me my blanket, he tries to say but it comes out kind of strange. He tries again with little success. Bolt leaves though, so maybe he understands. He’s so cold. What he’ll do for a nice, hot fire. And a nice hot cup of hot chocolate. And a nice, hot blanket… He misses his blanket.
