#Whumpril Day 13

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Whumpril day 13

(Blurry vision/support/”I think I need to sit down”)

Content warning: blood

Caretaker groaned as they finally deactivated their spell, the glow of magic leaving their hands. The patient beneath them sagged with exhaustion, wounds healed, but totally drained of energy. 

Caretaker didn’t feel any relief at the sight. There were dozens others who needed their help, dozens of others who would die without them. Caretaker had been working for hours, and yet the stream of injured did not slow.

There was so much blood. Their hands, their clothing, the pale body underneath them, all drenched in crimson. They wondered how much blood was their own.

“This one’s done,” they called out, voice strained. They let their weary eyes close for a moment as their last patient was replaced with another, just as wounded as the last.

Caretaker ignored the pounding headache in their skull, ignored the exhaustion that threatened to make them fall apart, and called their healing forth.

[fanfictasia]

Whumpril Day 13

Blurry Vision

Spoiler: This is an excerpt from an unnamed fanfic

“Did you become a Sith?” a voice asks, loudly, right behind him, and he starts, spinning as a hand grabs his arm. He flings out a hand without thinking, punching blindly.

It’s one of the other padawans, an Ictotchi boy, and he stumbles back with a startled yelp, expression instantly turning to anger before hitting back.

Within seconds, they’re exchanging punches on the floor. And he’s actually winning… until he’s not. A couple other students move forwards, saying something about “stopping the Sith” before they jump him.

With so many of them there, it’s hard to fight them all off, even if he’s definitely a better fighter than any of them. He had to be, to survive on Tatooine.

“What’s going on here?” a voice demands, sharply.

Maul.

“He started it,” one of the others calls, hastily disentangling themselves from the fight.

“I didn’t ask who started it,” Maul replies, sharply, “Does that justify all of you attacking another padawan?”

Anakin is… mildly surprised that he’s only talking to the others right now, as he shakily climbs to his feet.

The others look decidedly guilty now, saying nothing.

“And I will be having a word with your masters later,” Maul adds, looking between them.

Master.

Somehow, he doesn’t think he knows what it’s like to have anything else.

One of his eyes must be swelling badly, because it hurts, and his field of vision is definitely narrower than it ought to be. He reaches up to touch it, lightly – Well, it doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as that time he broke his legs.

It’s hard to see out of though, and it’s making everything blurry.

“He’s a Sith,” one of the other students mutters, sullenly.

“Is name calling appropriate?” Maul asks steely, staring them down.

[missmarvelobsession]

Whumpril Day 13 is up! @whumpril

I forgot to post on here yesterday

Todays Characters: Clint, Natasha, Bruce, Steve, Thor, Tony

Tags: Original 6, OG Avengers, Don't call Hulk Banner, sometimes Clint misses, Natasha is a good friend

Description: Clint takes a hit out on a mission

[autobot2001]

Whumpril Snippet 6

@whumpril​   

Day 4; ache, Day 6; painkillers, Day 8; nausea, "you look pale." Day 10; shiver Day 12; "I'm right here." Day 13; support, "I think I need to sit down." Day 28; bedridden

Fandom: Transformers Rating: E Warnings: None Pairing: Sunstreaker X Lily

Lily wakes up not feeling well but thinks it's a cold. She thinks a shower should help her feel fine for the day.   "You look pale," Sunstreaker comments when Lily walks out of the bathroom. "It's a cold, and hopefully, the shower helped." Sunstreaker doesn't argue. He gets clothes and goes to the bathroom.

Lily and Sunstreaker eat breakfast with their friends and Sunstreaker's brother, Sideswipe. Sunstreaker watches Lily, worried she doesn't have a minor cold. Even if she's eating as if she's not sick.

"You ok?" Sunstreaker asks Lily as the two walk into their room. "I'm fine. I-I think I need to sit down." Lily sits on the couch, feeling like the room is spinning. Sunstreaker gets painkillers and water for her. As she takes the pills, Sunstreaker gets her pajamas. "You're getting back in bed," he tells her. Lily changes into pajamas and gets back into bed. Sunstreaker sits at his desk and works on an art project.

"Sunstreaker?" He hears Lily a few hours later. He sits on his knees by her bed, not liking how she looks. "I'm right here," he assures her as he feels her forehead. Lily feels warm, but Sunstreaker knows this can happen with colds, and Lily would be taking the same medication whether she has a cold or the flu, "you're not going anywhere today." "Cold." Sunstreaker didn't think she'd be shivering that he'd hear teeth chattering. Sunstreaker gets extra blankets to layer on Lily. Worried about her, Sunstreaker lies on his bed and sketches on his tablet.

It's a quiet hour until Sunstreaker watches Lily try to get out of bed. He has to help her into the bathroom, not expecting her to throw up. They sit on the floor by the toilet as Lily still thinks she'll throw up. "Cold," Lily whines. Sunstreaker: Ratchet, I think Lily has the flu. He explains Lily's symptoms. Ratchet, I'll be right there.

Lily throws up again before Ratchet walks into the bathroom. "It's definitely the flu, but I want to make sure you don't need stronger medicine," Ratchet explains and gets a sample from Lily's mouth, "for now, make sure she's drinking water." Sunstreaker helps Lily back into bed as Ratchet leaves. "You're not going anywhere for a few days, and I'm staying here." "Good luck getting Prowl to let someone else do your patrols."

Sunstreaker stays in his room all day. He's about to ask Sideswipe to get dinner for him when he hears a knock on the door. "Drift?" He asks, seeing Drift with a tray, "I don't think she'll want to eat," he adds, seeing the contents on the tray is two bowls of soup. He knows Lily needs to eat, though he's worried she'll just throw up what she eats.

"No," Lily mumbles, not liking what the two mechs want to do. They don't want to force her or don't think this is enough reason to put a nasal gastric tube in. Tears roll down Lily's face as Sunstreaker supports her sitting up. Both mechs hoping she'll eat enough, but Lily doesn't last long. Once Lily is comfortable in bed, Drift gets a cooling cloth. "This should help," he tells Lily as he puts it on her forehead, "she's not going to like cold soup. Crackers will be better for now." Sunstreaker didn't think Drift would take a box of saltines out of his subspace, put it on the nightstand, puts the bowl of soup meant for Sunstreaker on the coffee table, and leaves with the tray. I think this is going to be our routine for the week. Prowl: I can't have another bot take your patrols for a week, sorry. Sunstreaker: I can have Sideswipe stay with Lily. She's too sick to get out of bed, and I  don't want her left alone. Prowl: I'm still not used to seeing you like this. Sunstreaker smiles, reading the text.

Sideswipe comes by ten minutes before Sunstreaker's morning patrol. "Did you sleep?" Sideswipe asks. "No, I knew Lily wouldn't wake me. I had to help her to the bathroom several times and give her medicine." "You can't keep this up until she's better." "She should be well enough not to need help getting to the bathroom in a few days." I could give her medicine before bed, allowing her to sleep all night. Sunstreaker wonders.

A temporary routine sets in, with Sideswipe watching Lily for an hour and Drift not minding bringing his two friends dinner for the next week until Lily can finally get out of bed for more than five minutes, but she's still not one hundred percent. Lily can go to the cafeteria and eat better than she has in a week, and Sunstreaker is ok with leaving Lily alone. "Prowl will be happy," Sideswipe tells Lily, "he's not pleased Sunstreaker hasn't done any other work." "I'm a little concerned about how worried Sunstreaker was, but it was nice he was with me all day." Sideswipe doesn't say anything, but he, too, is concerned.

[alpaca-clouds]

Whumpril Day 13: Blurry Vision | Support

Alright, today for @whumpril I went with two of the prompts again. With Blurry Vision and Support. Now, this time Caitlyn gets uncomfortably close to experiencing death - but maybe someone is there for a last minute rescue.

[boowhumps]

|WHUMPRIL 2023|

|Day 11 ~ Toxic|

(@whumpril)

⚠TW⚠

- Toxic Relationship

- Swearing

- Verbal abuse (kinda?) (idk?)

- Hallucinations

----------------

"Can you not? Jesus." Groans Kaiden as he gives me a dirty look.

I sigh. He'd been acting weird all this week. Always getting mad, always yelling, always having a complaint about something.

I lean back in my chair and close my eyes. I try to think to where it all went wrong.

Maybe it was after the incident?

Or maybe it was after the rumors?

.. Maybe he just got tired of me.

My heart yearns for what we once had. We would wake up together, go about our days, and fall asleep together.

"Are you just gonna sit there like an idiot or what?" Kaiden asks, sounding pissed off.

I clench my fists. "Just go back to what you were doing." I say as I grit my teeth.

He rolls his eyes at me, their shady color showing no signs of a soul.

We fall back into silence, neither of us even glancing at each other.

At some point, Kaiden left the room without even saying anything to me.

I curl in on myself, burying my head in my knees.

I ruined something.. Someone so perfect. I tore them down to nothing.

Its my fault.

His voice rings in my head.

"I hate you."

"I hate you."

"I hate you."

I grip onto my hair, tugging hard.

The voice screams louder.

"I HATE YOU."

"I HATE YOU."

"I HATE YOU."

----------------

I shoot up in bed, gasping. I run my hands through my hair.

Fuck.. same nightmare again.

I check the time, 3:02 am.

I sigh as I put my face in my hands. I can feel the semi-dry tear tracks on my face.

I get out of bed and check my phone as I head to the bathroom.

'38 messages'

'15 missed calls'

'18 voicemails'

I turn my phone off. Fuck them. I don't need them.

I go into the bathroom and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

My hairs all frizzy, my face is sunken and pale, and I look skinnier than ever.

I try to look away, but it feels like the mirror has a chokehold on me.

I can't look away.

My eyes widen.

I see someone behind me in the mirror.

Green eyes stare at me and the figure places a hand on my shoulder.

"I love you." It says.

I move my shoulder, the presence of its hand sending a shvier up my spine. "No." I mumble.

The hands grab my hair and stroke it.

"Look at these locks, worth everything." It smiles.

"Stop.." I whisper, looking down.

The hands gently holding my hair suddenly yank, hard. My head is forced up and I stare at those green eyes though the mirror.

"I love your long hair.. So delicate.. So.. soft." It says lovingly, the tone hiding a bit of the malicious intent.

I grip a strand of my hair. "Please.. please go.." I beg.

The hands grip my shoulders, nails digging into my skin.

I try to hold back my tears.

"You're mine. All mine.."

I start to shake.

"Isn't this what you want?"

I shut my eyes tightly.

"You want my love."

My eyes snap open.

"NO! I HATE YOU! LEAVE.!" I scream, my nails digging into my arms.

The pressure on my shoulders dissapears, and I'm alone once again.

I gasp for air as if there was none I could breathe in.

I shake as I look around my bathroom. My eyes frantically scan the room until they settle on a pair of scissors.

I grab them without a second thought. My eyes out back to looking on the mirror.

My eyes narrow.

I grip the scissors tighter. I bring them up against a strand of my hair.

I close my eyes, and I snip.

I keep going until I can feel tears running down my face.

I open my eyes to see someone else in the reflection of the mirror.

My long brown hair used to go down my back, straight and soft.

Now it was slightly under my shoulders and all messy.

I can't look away from the stranger looking back at me.

It's gone. The last part of.. me.. is gone.

I drop the scissors.

Who even am I.?

[whumpril]

Whumpril 2023 approaches!

Rules:

Anyone can participate.

Any media form is allowed (art, fic, gifs, music, whatever).

You can participate however much or as little as you want, no pressure to complete every single day.

You can post your work anywhere on the internet, Tumblr, Ao3, etc.

Tag potential triggers and NSFW accordingly.

If you want to be counted as an official participant and have the chance to be featured on the blog, post your content during the month of April. You can still use the prompt list after April ends.

I can’t guarantee that every single work will be featured but I’ll try to reblog as many as I can.

To increase your chances of being featured here, tag your post with the event name and the prompt of the day that you used (For example: #whumpril2023, #whumprilday1, #red alert) 

You can also @ the blog, @whumpril.

Full write-up of the prompts can be found under the cut!

Whumpril 2023 Prompts:

1. Red Alert | Distress Call | Panic Attack

2. Stress | Insomnia | “Get some rest.”

3. Rope Burns | Knife to Throat | “Hold still.”

4. Ache | Massage | Needle

5. Defiance | Dragged | Stifled Scream

6. Salve | Painkillers | Bad Coping Mechanisms

7. Numbness | Unsteady | “You look pale.”

8. Nausea | Comfort Food | Dehydration

9. Pinned Down | Bruises | “Who did this to you?”

10. Shiver | Breathless | “I’m scared.”

11. Nightmares | Bedside Vigil | “I’m right here.”

12. Friendly Fire | Toxic | “Get away from me!”

13. Blurry Vision | Support | “I think I need to sit down.”

14. False Smile | Holding Back Tears | “I said I’m fine.”

15. Isolation | Flinching | “Do you trust me?”

16. Guilt | Shock | “I’m so sorry.”

17. Cry For Help | Self-Treatment | “I can’t do this.”

18. Abandoned | Escape Attempt | “Take me instead!”

19. Choking | Muffled Sobs | “I’m worried about you.”

20. Disoriented | Sensory Deprivation | “Where am I?”

21. Scars | Fracture | “It’s just a scratch.”

22. Sponge Bath | Infection | “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

23. Smoke | Bloodstains | Sharing Clothes

24. Secrets | Under Duress | “What have you done?”

25. Heart Racing | On the Run | “We’re being watched.”

26. Explosion | Short on Time | “I won’t leave you!”

27. Forced To Kneel | Grabbed by Collar | Stepped On

28. Bedridden | Semiconscious | Light Sensitivity

29. Surrender | Punishment | “Final warning.”

30. Holding Hands | Human Shield | “Don’t let go.”

Alternative Prompts:

If there’s a prompt above you don’t feel inspired or comfortable doing, you can switch it out with one of these alternatives!

1. Ice Pack

2. Ransom

3. Gaslighting

4. On the Edge

4. Waiting Room

5. Un/Forgiveness

6. Food Poisoning

7. Heat Exhaustion

8. Forced To Crawl

9. Mandatory Leave

10. Search and Rescue

11. “Don’t push me away.”

12. Words That Can’t Be Taken Back

13. “Let me know if you need anything.”

[drabbles-mc]

Last Resort

John Wick & GN!Reader

For Day 13 of @whumpril's 2023 Challenge: support / "I think I need to sit down"

Warnings: 18+, angst, hurt/comfort, blood/injuries

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: My first ever John Wick fic! I have no idea where this idea came from but I couldn't not put it down on paper once it hit me. Hope you enjoy!

John Wick Taglist: @narcolini @ashlingnarcos @garbinge (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

You’d moved around from city to city for years, swapping out one small apartment for the next, without leaving much of a trail behind you to follow. Over the years you’d gotten a knack for finding places that were perfectly unassuming, if anything they would deter people from looking too hard to see who lived there. But you always turned the inside into your own little sanctuary, no matter what the outside of it looked like. No one had ever crossed the threshold to find that out for themselves, though.

After years of being away, you found yourself back in New York once more. You didn’t have a hard and fast rule about going back to the same city more than once, but you’d never felt the urge. However, after you cashed in on your last contract, there was something about the city that seemed to be pulling you back, and so here you were.

Your one-bedroom apartment was far off the beaten path. You kept it dark, but over the last few weeks that you’d been there, you made good headway on making it your home. Never knowing how long you were going to be staying in one spot had never made you sacrifice on making somewhere feel like it was really your own. All the horror that laid outside your door, you’d be damned if you were going to deprive yourself of creature comforts in the one place that was your only safe place to land at the end of the day.

Stretched out on the couch, a blanket draped over you and a book in your lap, you turned another page in the newest novel that you’d picked up along the way. The lamp by the end of your couch cast just enough light for you to be able to read, but not so much that it would draw attention and bleed through the curtains that covered your windows. The glass of red wine on the table was nearly empty, and you were debating back and forth in your head if you were going to get yourself a refill when you hit the end of the chapter that you were on.

Just as you were reaching for the glass to take a sip, you heard noise coming from the hallway. Your apartment was silent most of the time. If your life wasn’t what it so clearly was, you would’ve been the type to have the television or the radio playing at all times. But anything that hindered you being able to perceive possible threats had to go, and so you’ve adjusted to the silence. The only noise you ever heard was what floated up from the streets below. Over time, the quiet chaos that made its way to your ears became soothing in its own way.

The noise that was happening outside your door wasn’t that. It also didn’t sound like your neighbors coming or going from their apartment. You waited, trying to see if the noise was going to subside. The heavy footsteps only got louder, only got closer. Shifting gears, you stopped reaching for your glass of wine and instead moved your hand slightly to the left and reached for the gun that was on the table next to it. Your hand hovered, not yet picking it up in case the footsteps just kept on moving.

Then the knocks came, clearly landing on the old, heavy wood panels of the door to your apartment. Your hand wrapped around the gun now, other hand discarding your book and pulling the blanket off you. Standing up, you slowly started to make your way towards the door, the socks on your feet and your light steps rendering you practically silent.

The cadence of the knocks was familiar. Slow, methodical. You kept count of them in your head, and when they stopped at five, your heart sped up in your chest in a way that it hadn’t in a long time. It wasn’t often that you got a visit from a dead man, after all.

You briefly glanced through the peephole in your door—there was no such thing as being too safe. Plus, it’d been so long and you’d moved so many times, and again the man was apparently dead a few times over, so there was every reason to be skeptical about him finding you. Pressing your eye to the glass, you saw him, and you couldn’t tell if you were surprised or not.

Reaching and undoing all of the locks that went down the side of your door, you took a breath before pulling it open. All the while your gun was still clutched tightly in your hand. People changed too much too often for you to count on familiar history saving you. And, even if you weren’t the type to be cynical about history mattering, you knew that the worst parts of him were also born from that history. There was no such thing as a safe person in your line of work, not even if they were your friend.

He had one hand against the doorframe, that arm acting as the only thing giving him enough support to stay upright. His other hand was pressed hard into his side trying to staunch the bleeding of a wound that you couldn’t see, but the red stain that was growing across his white shirt was impossible to miss.

He looked at you through the mess of hair that was covering most of either side of his face. He was breathing heavily, shoulders taking the brunt of the effort each breath he took. He was covered in dirt, cuts, bruises, and blood. Exactly how you remembered him, for the most part. A little older now, but weren’t you all?

“Long time, no see,” you said, your tone casual in direct opposition to how tense your body was.

You watched as he didn’t say anything in response to that, the two of you simply just standing in your doorway staring at each other. That was another upside to living in the places that you did—someone standing in your doorway on the brink of bleeding out in the hallway wasn’t going to make anyone call the cops or anyone who could actually do anything. Everyone minded their own business, and you returned the favor.

If he’d shown up in good shape, you would’ve been more concerned. Showing up with one foot in the grave meant that he needed you, and that meant that you would be safe, at least from him, for a little while longer. That was something you could work with.

“Wanna come in?” you asked, even though the answer was grossly apparent.

“Yea,” he finally said, that same tired rasp to his voice that there had always been, “please.”

Opening the door a little wider, you motioned for him to come inside. You glanced up and down the hallway to make sure that no one had followed him before shutting the door. Your back was still to him as you redid all of the locks on your door. You could feel him watching you, the way you moved, the way you still kept a tight grip on the gun in your hand. Maybe you had a problem turning away old friends, if you could even call each other that, but you weren’t so stupid to think that that history meant you were safe, or that him being battered made him any less of a threat.

Taking a deep breath, you let your head drop back, looking up at your ceiling for a moment before getting yourself right and turning back around to face him. He was partially hunched over, looking much smaller than he really was because of it.

“Officially burned through all of your other friends, then, John?” you asked as you walked over to him.

He gave a short nod. “Something like that.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Glad I’m at least still a last resort.”

The silence that followed was weighed down with a lot of questions that both of you knew better than to ask. You knew that he wasn’t going to give you any answers, not ones that would really explain much of anything, anyway. You wondered if he even had questions about you. If he knew where you were now, you had to assume that he’d known where you were before, too. Kept tabs all those years. That was quite the feat, if you were being honest and giving credit where it was due.

Much less work had gone into keeping tabs on him. Everyone knew who John Wick was, knew where he was. That was just step one in being able to cover your ass and keep yourself safe. Keep your enemies closer and all that. You hadn’t spared it too much thought once he got out. That was the whole point of getting out. He was just supposed to be John once he completed his impossible task. It lasted longer than you’d thought it would, him being out. But it would’ve been a lie to say that you were surprised when you started hearing chatter about him working again. It was even less of a surprise when the entire underground world started falling apart at the seams once he was.

“Should I even ask what happened?” you said as you stepped past him, walking deeper into your apartment.

“It’s a long story.”

You were waiting for him to actually ask for what he wanted, even though it was obvious. He was so used to the entire world either coming after him, or simply offering up to him whatever he needed. But that had never been how the two of you operated, not even when you were young. If he wanted your help, he could ask for it, especially after all of this time.

When he peeled his gaze up off the floor and actually looked at you, he saw the expression on your face. While age and hardship had changed the both of you, he still knew exactly what that look meant. One glance at the look in your eyes and suddenly he was just young, lost Jardani all over again, a boy in need of a helping hand. And, just like back then, you had more self-assurance than you should have for someone who also didn’t know what they were doing or what they were really in for.

“I need a place to stay,” he finally grit out past the pain that was shooting through his side.

A small smile quirked the ends of your lips. “Always something, huh?”

He gave one nod. “Always something.”

“You can stay, Johnny,” there was a bit of a humorous lilt to your voice as you used the name that hadn’t fallen from your lips in more years than you could even try to count.

He’d disliked the nickname back then, still disliked it now. You were the only one who ever called him that that didn’t immediately come to regret it. Even so, he made his disdain for it known. But for the moment, whatever annoyance he felt because of the nickname was outweighed by the relief of having a place to stay, at least for the night, where no one would be trying to kill him.

“If they find me because of you, though, John,” you warned him with a shake of your head, “I will kill you and keep the contract money for myself and I won’t feel any guilt about it.”

He knew you meant that. No matter how much either of you looked out for the other, if push came to shove it was always going to be about survival, first. He knew that. He respected it. He was the same exact way. That mutual understanding was what had kept the two of you alive for so long when you were younger—always making sure that you were on the same side of a fight or so far away from each other that you weren’t going to have to worry about what you might have to do to the other.

You figured that you had kept him standing in limbo, in agony, long enough. If he was willing to be patient enough to get through all of that, the least you could do was try and stitch him up enough so that he could live to die another day.

“What do you need?” you asked, not quite sure where you were supposed to begin with him.

“I think I need,” he took a small step towards your coffee table, “to sit down.”

You nodded, clearing the end of the small table so that he could take a seat on it. The short breath of relief he let out at being able to sit sounded exceptionally loud in your apartment, although in reality the sound hardly carried beyond the tiny space that passed for your living room. He still had one hand pressed hard against his side, but now the other was gripping his knee, his arm locked straight to keep him sitting somewhat upright.

“Let’s see what we’re working with,” you said.

You almost set your gun down but thought better of it at the last second, tucking it into the back of your waistband instead. You stepped past him, grabbing your glass of wine and finishing off what was left of it in one swig. It was the least you deserved for the mess that you’d just let into your apartment. Apparently now it was a sanctuary for two.

Letting the glass clatter back onto the top of the coffee table, you reached to start helping him take his jacket off. You felt how stiff he was, the hesitation of it. Sighing, you stepped back and looked at him. “You came to me for help, John. If you just wanted to bleed out, you could’ve done that out on the street and saved me the trouble.”

The comment got him to relent. Peeling his hand from his knee, he slipped his arm out of the sleeve. Switching hands that were applying pressure, he let you pull the jacket off of his other arm as well. You tossed the jacket off to the side, hearing how it landed a little heavier than most jackets. Extra weight was the price of not getting pierced by bullets.

“All these years,” you said, a slight scold to your tone, “and you never learned to wear something under the shirt?”

He didn’t have a good argument for that. Or, if he did, he kept it to himself as you continued to help him peel the next layer off. You could see the pain it caused him, trying to peel the white dress shirt off of him. You cringed as well, knowing that it must’ve felt like hell. All those cuts and wounds that were maybe started to clot over being ripped open again as you slipped the shirt back off his shoulders.

For as much as the removal of it hurt, you also knew that there had to be a small wave of relief washing over John, too. Something unique about wounds being able to breathe after being suffocated by fabric and your own unstopped blood-flow.

Sitting in just his slacks and shoes, John was all blood and bruises. Nothing but tattoos, scars, and brands. He was a sight that would’ve been heart wrenching to most, pitiful even in his own way. But you didn’t have that sympathy for him. You didn’t have the fear of him either. His scars and burns and ink didn’t rouse any aversion in you because underneath the layers you were currently cloaked in, you looked almost the exact same way. Two sides of the coin, you and John Wick. Always were. Always would be.

“I’ll get my things,” you told him as you gathered up his jacket and shirt and disappeared off towards your bathroom.

You left his clothes to soak in the bathroom sink while you grabbed your kit, which was more extensive than most, and headed back out to him. All these years and the two of you still ended up like this—one person bloody and one person bandaging. At least you still had each other to fall back on when all else failed. You weren’t sure if that was a silver lining or not.

No stranger to triage, you set about taking care of his worst injuries first. Laid out on your coffee table like your apartment was an operating room, you stitched and cleaned and bandaged like someone who should’ve been paid to do things like that. If John had been anyone else, you would’ve expected payment in some form or another, the gold coins or at the very least a favor owed. More likely, if John had been anyone else you wouldn’t have answered the door, would’ve just shot him through it. But how were you supposed to do that to him?

By the time you were done, you were surprised that he was even still awake. If the exhaustion didn’t get him, you were certain that the blood loss was going to. But of course it didn’t. For all of the mythic stories that surrounded John, not even you could deny that the man just didn’t ever seem to fucking die and stay dead. You admired that about him, but you were never going to tell him that.

Standing up, you stripped your gloves off and loomed over him, inspecting your work while also trying to gauge where he was at. “Think you can stand up?”

Sitting up, he slowly pushed himself up to his feet. He was about to take a step when you saw the quiver in his leg. Before he could go down, you stepped in and hooked your arm around him, bracing him across his back and landing his arm over and across your shoulders. Both of you let out grunts of effort as you tried to make it so that both of you didn’t end up toppled to the floor.

“Stitching you up wasn’t enough?” you said as the two of you slowly started to make your way towards the bathroom. “Gonna make me carry you to the shower too?”

Even if he hadn’t been in the state he was in, he wouldn’t have given you the victory of a laugh. He never had. It was one of the few things that kept you humble. Instead, he continued to lean onto you for support as you half-guided, half-dragged him to your bathroom.

You deposited him onto the closed lid of your toilet as gracefully as you could, which was never graceful enough. He was kind enough to not make you feel any more guilty about it. At least the stitches held. You could feel him watching you as you pulled back the curtain enough to turn the water on, one hand held underneath the stream while you waited for it to warm up. Your eyes were trained on the floor as you waited, but you could hear the sounds of him pushing out of his shoes.

When the water finally got hot enough, you pulled your hand out and wiped it off on your pants. Looking over at John, you raised your eyebrows, a wordless preface to your question. “Need help with this?”

It was a genuine ask, one with no ulterior motives behind it now like it might have a few lifetimes ago. Back when you were both a lot younger and a different kind of reckless, there would’ve been layers to the question. But as it was now, you were just worried that he was going to pass out and crack his head on the edge of your tub.

“I got it,” he answered, sounding weary as ever.

Shaking your head, you said, “Of course you do.” You set a clean towel on the sink counter for him before stepping back towards the bathroom door. “Yell if you need me. Or I’ll at least hear you fall.”

You were pulling the door closed behind you when you heard him say your name. Looking back over your shoulder, you saw him slowly bring himself to his feet. “Thank you,” he said with a nod. “I know what this could cost you.”

If you’d been feeling angry, or cruel, you would’ve said something along the lines of, “And yet you still showed up anyway.” But you didn’t have it in you. There had never been any space in you for anger towards him.

Instead, you said, “The rest of the world wants you dead, Johnny. Not me.”

He nodded, knowing better than anyone how true that was, and the weight of you saying that you were an honest safety net for him. “Thank you.”

Nodding, you told him, “Clean yourself up,” and pulled the door shut.

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Since June of Doom is basically right around the corner, I've been wondering if anyone would like to see a continuation of any of my random whump one-offs from Whumpmas, Whumpuary, and Whumpril.

I'm specifically referring to the ones that are just Whumpee, Caretaker and Whumper, not ocs (although I will take into consideration submissions about, say, Arcturus and Henry or the Immortal Thief, because they aren't part of my longer WIPs and aren't seen as often). Things including but not limited to Whumpmas 5, 14, 19, 27, the Whumpmas Hero x Villain, or Whumpuary 7, 13.

I make no promises as to whether I'll actually get around to a suggestion, it really depends on my inspiration and motivation. But we have thirty days' worth of prompts (+ several alts) to fill, so I'm not too concerned about that at the moment.

@fourwingedsnake and @sausages-things you are the first two who come to mind who might have Opinions on this. Anyone else can also feel free to reply to/reblog this post with your thoughts. Or message me, I don't care how it gets across lol.

[waywardwizzard]

☆Writing Masterlist☆

Hi everyone! My blog's tag search thingy hates me and someone asked me if I'd put my writing in one place so I decided to create a Masterlist

Most of these are Firefly fics (as y'all know) but I'll add my original stuff under OG if y'all are ever interested in reading them

(Also, I finally learned how to make hyperlinks, yay!)

Writing Masterlist Part 2 (because I've apparently written too much)

Firefly fic requests are [open]

Now, onward with the links ->

Yeehawgust 2024 ->

Day 1

Whumperless whump event

[See Writing Masterlist part 2]

June of Doom 2024

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9 | Day 10 | Day 11 | Day 12 | Day 13 | Day 14 | Day 15 | Day 16 | Day 17 | Day 18 | Day 19 | Day 20 | Day 21 | Day 22 | Day 23 | Day 24 | Day 25 | Day 26 | Day 27 | Day 28 | Day 29 | Day 30

Whumpril 2024

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4

Febuwhump 2024

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9 | Day 10 | Day 11 | Day 12 | Day 13 | Day 14 | Day 15 | Day 16 | Day 17 | Day 18 | Day 19 | Day 20 | Day 21 | Day 22 | Day 23 | Day 24 | Day 25 | Day 26 | Day 27 | Day 28 | Day 29

Yeehawgust 2023 (I'll add these slowly but surely because I have to manually scroll back to last year August-)

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9 | Day 10 | Day 11 | Day 12 | Day 13 | Day 14 | Day 15 | Day 16 | Day 17 | Day 18 | Day 19 | Day 20 | Day 21 | Day 22 | Day 23 | Day 24 | Day 25 | Day 26 | Day 27 | Day 28 | Day 29 | Day 30 | Day 31

Misc fics

Luck (Halloween 2023) (with added Discworld sprinkles!)

What we lost (Christmas 2023)

Fic requests

Ties that bind | Slice of life

[septic-dr-schneep]

@whumpril Day 13: Angry Tears

“Hey, stop that. They aren’t gonna heal well if you keep picking at the scabs—”

“Yes, thank you kindly for the obvious commentary! I’m very well aware!” Jameson’s waspish response clearly took Chase aback but he couldn’t bring himself to apologize. The marks around JJ’s wrists, left by strings, were now as red, hot and irritated as he felt thanks to his agitated rubbing and scratching. He just wanted to erase them, to be free of any trace of the Glitch’s control.

Oh̀, b͘ut̕ do̢n͜’̡t̶ y͡oų u̧nd͠e̡rs͡t͞a̛n͢d, d́u̧mb͝ ͜l̛įt͝tle͡ p͠upp̡et? that nagging voice in the back of his head sneered, making his breath catch. You̧’͜ll̷ ͜never ̡be ̡f̢rȩe!

That first hitch in his chest led to another as a lump of helpless frustration swelled in his throat. In his peripheral vision Chase softened, cautiously opening an arm. JJ couldn’t turn him down, slumping into his embrace with shaking shoulders.

[blackrosesandwhump]

Nathaniel's Bane, Part 1

Whumpril Day 13: Angry Tears

CW: Gothic illness, fever whump, implied self-harm

Cold silver moonlight pierces the gloom of Nathaniel’s bedroom as the boy lies awake, tossing and turning from the discomfort in his chest.

It’s happening again, the same way it always happens: pain that starts small in his sternum, radiating through his body and bringing with it a weakness that he can never shake, an illness from which he never gets well. A few days ago, he could traverse the garden, albeit slowly, walk to the library and back, even sit outside in the bright sunlight for an hour at a time without his body failing him. Now, he can’t even leave his bed.

And it’s all because of the—

A gentle knock interrupts his thoughts, followed by a low voice calling his name. “Master Nathaniel?”

He doesn’t answer, but the door opens anyway, revealing the figure of the doctor, slightly disheveled, concern deepening the shadows on his face.

“You’re unable to sleep,” he observes, opening his bag. “Let me take your temperature again.” He helps the boy sit up and slides the thermometer under his tongue. Nathaniel closes his eyes and lets the doctor do his work. Not that it will help. Nothing does.

A couple of angry tears bead in the corners of his eyes and slide down his hot cheeks. If only he could remove the thing from his chest, get it out of him, rip it away and hurl into in the sea.

“You definitely have a fever. This will help bring it down.” The doctor holds a small vial to Nathaniel’s lips. He drinks it automatically, recoiling at the bitter taste as if taking it for the first time, not the thousandth. A wave of weakness washes over him, and he sinks back into the pillows, another tear tracking down into his already-damp temple.

He feels rather than sees the doctor examine him with a sad, pitying look. “I’ll come check on you again. Try to sleep, if you can.” The door closes with a soft thump, and Nathaniel lies alone again under the cold white moon.

To his fevered imagination, it looks like an eye, boring into him with an unblinking, terrifying stare, as if a gargantuan monster on high is observing the tiny, sick human on earth. Nathaniel rolls over, away from the eye, and the pain in his chest lessens just a little. His right hand, curled under the pillow, touches something hard and cornered. The dagger his father gave him. He forgot he put it there before night fell, before the pain in his body started afresh.

After a while, his tossing and turning gives way to shallow, fevered dreams, but not before an idea edges into Nathaniel’s mind.

Maybe there is a way to remove the devil’s stone from his body after all.

[crimsonlyinglilly]

Day 14- Alt “You’re pathetic.”

Picking an alt for day 14 for whumpril but hopefully with this i'll have caught up

Familiar Faces set Season 3 ep 14, set after Day 13 Angry tears and before Day 10 Adrenaline

The Mikealson ball goes on, Elijah is not enjoying it before he gets dragged into being part of the hosts

-----

Elijah bit back the urge to curse out loud as he saw Elena enter the ball despite his pleas that she stay away from Esther, why couldn’t his sibling just listen to him, before he could make his way to her and try to get her to leave he was stopped by another sibling.

“Elijah.” Finn called as he stepped into his path, Elijah had managed to avoid him and Klaus since he arrived, mostly staying at Jenna’s side or speaking with Kol and he flickered around the room to greet all the guests, likely on mother’s order. 

He stopped, not that he had much choice as Finn stood in front of him, he hated the fact he had to look up to meet Finn’s eyes at this closeness.

“This is a new start.” Finn tried to reason with him as he glared back, at least he didn’t need to explain to Finn why he was angry at him.

“She’s the one who failed us,” he snapped back, reminding his brother.

“Elijah we all need to-” his brother started but Elijah cut him off with a laugh.

“Change” he finished before stepping away“and yet you return to the same place you have always been, at mother’s side, clinging to her skirt.”

He frowned as Finn following him forcing him to step further away from where he had left Jenna and Elena who he noticed was joined by both his other brother, the Salvatore could at least keep his self sacrificing twin with the witch with a habit of using doppelganger blood

“Tell me brother who has placed the job of minding our siblings since i’m not returning to the role?” he asked, covering his annoyance as he realised he was being shepherded away with a taunt he knew would push Finn’s patience.

“Mother wants to see you.” Finn admitted as Elijah realised he had been led away, not just from his family but to a side door, one clearly closed off for guests. 

As much as he wanted to remind them he was just a guest here and pull away from Finn to return to his family, he could also feel Klaus on the other side of the door.

It was rather clear this ‘choice’ only had one answer.

“Of course, always the errand boy.” he signed as he gave in, he would have left it if he hadn’t noticed the shift in Finn’s expression a mix of pleasure and getting what he wanted and fulfilling mother’s request, “You’re pathetic.” he smiled coldly at his brother before turning away and barely glancing at Klaus as he met him on the other side of the door.

—

After months living in this house as it was renovated, and the last kept them as little more than house arrest he knew where they were going.

He isn’t surprised to find Esther standing of the otherside in the living room waiting for him, he is however to find Kol and Rebekah also waiting there, so this was planned, he didn’t glance at either of them in betrayal for not warning, he understood.

It's just he no longer cared about Esther’s wishes.

So had she called him here to humiliate him in front of them as a warning to them or was this an attempt for her to remind him of the full family, to use his siblings against him.

Unfortunately for her, his complete family didn’t include her and he would love to see what would happen if she attempted to ban his siblings from seeing him.

“How can I help you Mrs Mikaelson?” he asked the image of a polite guest, ignoring as Finn and Klaus followed him into the room.

She sighed heavily as if he had disappointed her.

“Elijah, I expect you to deal with your petulantance.”she told him “I understand the emotional issues returning to a younger body and reliving childhood could have confused you, I’ve watched over you, I understand what you have gone through from this curse.”

He choked at her words, refusing to let the panic he felt at the thought of her watching from the other side as he worked on the street, as he crawled after Tristan and cried himself to sleep for the first few years he was in the hospital praying his uncle would come back for him.

“May I suggest getting yourself checked out at the hospital.” he offered turning his choking into an amused scoff, “either your hearing is going for your having memory issues but I told you this morning you're not my mother.” he repeated.

Elijah didn’t look away from her but he heard his siblings shift around the room, clearly uncomfortable at the tension or that he hadn’t given in.

Maybe that was why hse had chosen to do this in front of an audience she was hoping he’d give in to spare them of the discomfort, he had never really liked conflict in his first life.

Turns out that’s something he had learned to, some point over the last thousand years.

“Elijah, do not embarrass me.” she snapped.

“I’m sorry,” he demurred, looking down but watching from the corner of his eyes as she relaxed before speaking again “but your continued existence is an embarrassment to Niklaus reputation.”

“Hey!” Klaus snapped from the side only stopped by her hand wave.

“I mean how come you fail to make sure she stays dead but Zach does.” he called over as if the use of his brother’s name so carelessly didn’t hurt, he rolled his shoulder well aware that his looser postured made Klaus uncomfortable a reminder that he wasn’t just his responsible controlled older brother.

“Zachary Salvatore is on the other side,” Esther spoke softly, soothing, Elijah froze as something crawled its way up his throat. “He wouldn’t want this for you-”

Right, it was repulsion in his throat, at the idea she could use Zach against him. That anyone could use Zee against him when Zee was his, only his, they were all each other had. 

Stop living for others, you're free. Live however you want EJ, Zee’s last words for him, going to his death but more concerned Elijah would lose himself in the afterwards.

She was smiling so sure that had swayed him.

“Since Klaus failed to make your stay there permanent, maybe I can try.” he smiled back, ignoring the way all his siblings flinched.

He wasn’t surprised by the sudden movement from the edges of the room.

Finn and Klaus, Mother’s golden boys. He really needed to deal with the unfortunate refresh of his childhood feelings that the age of his body had brought and Esther’s return had empowered.

Two hands grabbed him at the same time both very much going to leave bruises, the hand on his right catching his shoulder thumb pressing onto his collar bone while the other vice like hand curled around his forearm, he didn’t look away from Esther’s eyes keeping a smile on his face but he noticed the taller one was on his right, Finn’s grip was the one threatening to break his collarbone with the grip tighter than Klaus.

Seemed Klaus has learned a little.

“BOYS STOP!” she shouted after a moment’s delay, was that shock at her son’s attacking the normal peacekeeper or had she wanted Elijah to get a warning from it, Elijah tried not to wonder anymore, he didn’t care about anything Esther wanted. “I expect you to be civilised,” he bites back the comment over learning that from the Gilberts, “not act like animals” he heard his own teeth click as he swallowed another comment over her taste in lovers, he had brought Klaus into this once already.

“Fine, what do you want?” he sighed, rolling his shoulders as he did, the sooner he agreed to whatever she wanted, the sooner he could leave and get away from her.

“You’re to stand with the family during the toast.” she told him, the frown on her face, this had clearly not gone how she wanted.

“Why?” he asked, know there was more to it but unable to see what

“The town knows you,” she smiles and he hates that he knows it means she won, “they trust you, it will help us settle in peacefully.”

He agrees with annoyance he doesn’t let himself show.

—-

He downs the drink the moment the toast is raised, the glass cracking in his grip.

How dare she! Airing his family secret, his adoption, to the town just so she could claim him, at least it was only his birth he brought into question.

That she had let Elena alone.

Still he’d take Isobel over Esther.

Fine, she wanted to be his mother in the eyes of the town, she could have it. The town was going to have questions and they would go to Elijah first, he was the one they knew, he’d grown up with these people, he knew just the ones that would spread the story faster than Esther could.

Elijah was going to be honest, as honest as he could and she couldn’t blame him if it was the truth, it was her own fault if it embarrassed her. 

[rose-of-pollux]

Title: As I Lay Dying Fandom: Back to the Future Rating: T Summary: [BTTF the Musical, Twin Pines timeline] Stricken by radiation poisoning, Doc regrets everything.

For @whumpril Day 1, Alt Prompt 13: "You brought this on yourself"

Major character death, but it's canonical and does canonically get reversed, just not in this fic.

[lingeringmirth]

better than anything

Stranger Things | Platonic stobin | Rating: G | Words: 300 | Sickfic, hurt steve. Written for day 13 of @whumpril with alternate prompt contagious.

Also here on AO3.

-

Steve tries to block her at the door, the operative word being trying, as he can’t summon any real strength to his noodle-weak arms, his whole body is shivering with a fever and he has to stop and cough into the crook of his arm. he sways a little, his head pounding.

He tries words as Robin continues to push at the door and get her foot in the gap.

‘No, you can’t come in, Robs, I’m sick.’ He wouldn’t have even needed all those words, as his voice croaks so badly no-one would think he was healthy. His throat feels like sandpaper. He sways again.

She gives him a well-duh look and brings a tupperware up to the crack in the door to show him, shaking it enticingly.

‘I know, which is why I’ve brought soup. Chicken-noodle. Don’t worry, my mom made it, so it’s all good.’

He feels touched by her concern, her caring, but he also doesn’t want her to get sick. He would be fine alone, always was, always would be. It’s just the flu.

‘I don’t want you to get sick.’

Robin finally managed to wedge her foot between the door and the frame, crowing her triumph. ‘Well, I don’t want you to suffer alone. I don’t care if I get sick.’

Steve can’t help it, he bursts into tears and lets go of the door. Robin comes in and hugs him and it’s the best thing he’s felt all day, it chips away at his misery a little.

Ten minutes later he’s tucked in bed with soup in his stomach and Robin watching over him. He feels better than fine as he slips into sleep, even if he’s still sick… because Robin will be there when he wakes up and that’s better than anything.

[isamajor]

Whumpril 2024 : day 11 to 15

11 . Can't Sleep

Nebarra came and sat down heavily near the campfire near which Taliesin was already installed, a fur wrapped around his shoulders.

“Can't sleep, mmh?”

A growl answered the elder Thalmor. Both knew the question was purely rhetorical. They were both veterans of the Great War and had experienced their share of horrors. Enough so that once you close your eyes, they take the opportunity to haunt you. Rather tired than reliving this in their sleep.

“Hand me the wine.”, Nebarra finally growled.

Taliesin sighed, rolled dramatically his eyes but handed him the bottle. Lacking sleep, Nebarra needed it to numb his memories. (100)

•

12 . Weak Pulse

Lydia was found lying in the tall grass, pale and motionless. The ground was soaked with blood beneath her. Kaidan threw himself on his knees beside her and immediately tilted his head to listen for a breath, then placed two fingers at her jugular. Time seemed endless. Kaidan seemed to feel a very slight pulse, but so faint that he doubted he felt anything.

“Damn, I think we’re losing her!!!”, he shouted.

Lucien arrived a few seconds later and, although out of breath, began to perform his best healing spells on her. Both clung to the hope of that faint pulse to save her. (104)

•

13 . Angry Tears

At first Lucien's features expressed shock. As if he couldn't believe what was happening before his eyes. Then, being assured that it was not a mistake but indeed a betrayal, his big blue eyes filled with tears.

"You said you wouldn't kill him ! I trusted your word !"

Lucien was trembling. It was not the blizzard that froze his tears on his cheeks that caused this, but rather his anger. Taking his courage in both hands, he stepped between the Dovahkiin and the old dragon.

"I won't stand for this." he finally said, his tone suddenly icy. (100)

•

14 . Urgent Care

They had faced an imposing Falmer pack which had divided their group in the maze of the cavern. Remiel clutched her stomach, pale and doubled over in pain. Inigo quickly understood that she was badly injured. He forced her to lie down and tore the sleeve of his own tunic to make a pressure bandage.

"It's gonna be alright. I'm sure Xelzaz will be here in a minute. He'll have potions to heal you.", he reassured her. But his voice was uncertain. He could only provide the minimum amount of emergency care. The Argonian needed to come, and quickly. (102)

•

15 . Mind Games

A memory had arisen. His father watched him, while he was still young, practicing the magical arts, scrutinizing his every move. “Your posture. Straighter!” he ordered, sharply adjusting his position. “Don’t shame our name.” he added.

Instinctively, at the thought of this memory more than a century old, Taliesin corrected his posture. The conditioning imposed by his father in order to make him a perfect Thalmor had left its mark. His father's little games had molded him that way, by exploiting his vulnerabilities and constantly pushing his limits. Each failure was accompanied by his abuse, forcing him into a endless search for perfection. (103)