#whumpcember day7

[cptslibrary]

Whumpcember Day 7 - Fainting

Whumpcember Day 7 - Fainting Fandom - Peter Pan CW - Blood, Fainting, Violence, Hurt/Some Comfort

James' vision was going blurry. Peter had gashed his one good hand. “Blast you, Peter Pan! You’ll regret the day you were born!” He screamed at the boy. He was loud enough to shake the sails. 

Peter had a cruel smile on. He raised a hand to his ear. “I say, Captain, do you hear something?” 

Hook felt the blood drain from his face. He was already out of breath, the odd color of his blood flashing every time he closed his eyes. He swallowed thickly, almost unable to turn around. The crocodile chose this moment to leap into the air. The thick, heavy jaws snapped with such force the wind knocked the Captain’s hat off. 

At that moment, he desperately marched to his cabin. He could barely see. The muffled sounds in his ears didn’t give him any information about the whereabouts of the crew or the Lost boys. His heart was pounding painfully fast and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. The door had hardly shut before he hit the floor, unconscious.

He awoke later in his bed. Smee was asleep in the chair next to him. Judging by the light from the windows it was late at night. He dared to look at his hand, which was freshly bandaged. A wave of rage consumed him for a minute, but he was too weak to rise. He silently boiled, then turned his eyes to his sleeping first mate.

Cheery Smee never seemed to give up. Hook briefly thought of Smee picking him up off the floor and moving him to the bed. He also knew Smee would not bring it up. He wondered how Smee managed to ignore how pathetic he was these days. He listened to Smee snore and stared at the ceiling, ready for another long night. After some time, he moved to his desk and began writing in his logs.

Smee snorted awake. He blearily looked at the bed before finding the Captain at his desk, writing away. James didn't look up.

"Ah, you're up. Good." Smee rose from the chair and made the bed. He moved to the table and picked up some fruits for the Captain. Fixing a plate for the man and not slyly popping some food into his mouth, he placed it at the Captain's side. James watched him wearily.

"I'll let you get on then. Good night Cap'n." Smee moved towards the door.

"Good night, Smee," James said back. He picked at the fruit.

[ex0rin]

Whumpcember 2022 - Day 7

@whumpcember - Day 7 ✨Scars✨ winterbones, stucky - 730 words Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Brock Rumlow scars (absolute shout out to @subverbaldreams AS ALWAYS because I will never stop thinking about those back scars), trauma

The door to the bathroom creaks open while he’s still half undressed - it’s his own fault, he has trouble with doors being closed completely, something about being locked away in dark cages and cryo chambers for pretty much all of his life. 

It might have been okay if he’d at least been turned around, facing the door instead of still in the process of pulling the shower curtain back across the bathtub; it’s not like Steve hasn’t seen… well, most of him - they’ve been cohabiting the same space since Steve had circled back from the past once he’d realized his mistake. 

His huge, unbelievable mistake.

That had been rough - the time alone before Steve’s big return and then the first several months afterwards as well; he’s not so good at feelings and talking and Steve’s not good at… listening to his horrifying and (understandably) very traumatic past if he’s honest. 

Which brings him to now. 

He hears the rough intake of breath before he even realizes that Steve’s behind him - he’s gotten rusty at hearing the other man or Steve’s gotten better at sneaking up on him; it’s followed by the soft, tentative brush of fingertips along the healed silver slashes that still mark his back and he goes tense, breath lodged in his lungs. 

This isn’t going to end well. 

“Baby,” Steve says, which is not a good start - that word makes his eyes flutter closed on instinct, it makes him think about dark, spiked hair and amber eyes, of blood and come and falling to his knees; it makes him want to open his mouth and say ready to comply.

He fights against the feel of the words at the back of his mouth and presses his lips together instead, biting the inside of his cheek until there’s the always familiar taste of copper along the side of his tongue.

“What,” Steve starts, hesitating for a moment - there’s a long enough pause that he can start trying to breathe again even if Steve’s too-careful fingers are gently tracing down the full extent of the scar, down down down his back along a long diagonal line that curves over his hip and then back up, following the trail to the center and back up over the branching, matching silver slash. 

It’s already too late for him to play it off, as far as he would be able to anyway; Steve’s not an idiot, he never has been - dense sometimes, too good for his own… good but not dumb enough to ignore the obvious, to not see the connection. 

He sees it every time he looks over the shoulder and into a mirror, he thinks about it without meaning to and wakes from dreams - from nightmares, he’s been told, that leave him confused and shaking and more often than not, hard between his thighs. 

“Oh,” Steve says, like it’s painful to even say anything at all - the fingers along his back lift away from his skin and he knows that Steve’s clenching his fingers into a fist; it’s the same thing that always happens when Steve remembers that Rumlow got to spend years and years and years with him. 

Which is unfair but hard to argue. 

He’s tried to remind Steve that it’s not like he had a choice in the matter. 

It’s hard with the Triskelion leak circulating around the internet still - all those grim and gritty details of exactly what Rumlow and the team did to him are just out there in the world for anyone to read and Steve’s always been his own worst enemy, needing to know everything even if it’ll make matters so much worse. 

He still finds it weird or interesting or… strangely endearing (although he’ll never tell anyone) that the scars on his back, the perfectly clear and obvious replica of Rumlow’s harness splayed over his skin never made it into the files - it feels personal and safe and his.

Which is why this is bad. 

He knows the question before it’s in the air between them:

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

And there’s nothing he can say that Steve won’t see through - especially with the way Steve’s warm hands are on his shoulders and Steve is turning him around so that they’re finally looking at each other.

There are already tears in Steve’s eyes and maybe he doesn’t need to say anything this time. 

Maybe Steve already knows why. 

[firealder2005]

Whumpcember 2022 Day. 7 SCARS

Featuring: Luke getting wounded & in-the-process-of-falling Rey! Also, adoptive relationships!

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43429743/chapters/109178700

Enjoy!

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Parrying the slicing yellow blade, Luke attempted to disarm his wayward student of her weapon. He twisted his own green lightsaber, hoping to deprive her of one of her own sabers, but she was able to keep her grip on it and spin away.

Pausing for a moment, Luke reached out through the Force once more to brush against his student’s presence. Once a bright, sunny yellow humming with power, that warm aura was now slowly being corrupted - like threads of gray, black, and red were slowly creeping into the yellow, trying to squeeze that light away.

Luke would not allow that to happen.

Corruption wasn’t the end - he proved that by helping his own father see the light within himself yet.

And he will not give up on Rey.

“Just leave me alone!” she yelled, spinning one of her sabers in hand.

Luke could only shake his head. “I’m not leaving, Rey,” he replied. “I cannot, and will not, allow the darkside to control you - but you need to take that first step.”

Rey gripped her lightsabers, and Luke saw her knuckles go white. “I’m not going to be any trouble,” she muttered. “I’m not gonna take over the galaxy.” Her hands shook. “Just leave me here, okay?!”

Luke took a couple steps forward, deactivating his lightsaber, until he was a few paces away from his fallen student. “You know I won’t do that,” he murmured. “And I didn’t come after you because I feared for the galaxy - it was because I feared for you.” he closed his eyes, smiling wryly as his father’s vocoded-voice entered his mind. “You don’t know the power of the darkside, Rey,” he said, opening them to stare at her. She met his blue gaze, her brown eyes blank. “No one does,” Luke added. “We never will know the power of either side of the Force - but I do understand you.”

Rey’s lips pursed her lips and looked away. Luke continued; “I don’t know what caused you to start your fall, Rey, but I do know it’s not too late. It never will be.” he hooked his saber to his belt, completely disarming himself, and took another step forward, conscious of the cornered animal stance Rey had.

“Rey,” Luke now pleaded. “Come home. Please.”

Rey glanced at him, something in her shifting, and with a pang Luke felt her bright presence dim even more.

The darkside was winning, but Luke would not give up.

He’ll chase Rey across the galaxy to bring her home if he has to, abandoning his duties to the Jedi Order and the New Republic in the process and he’ll feel no guilt in doing so.

The safety of his students came first, and Rey was his student.

As her teacher, and as the man who raised her, it was his foremost duty to bring her home.

Slowly reaching a hand out, Luke rested it on her shoulder. “Please Rey,” he asked quietly once again. “You’re family.”

Rey’s whole body was shaking, and a tremor in the Force distracted Luke momentarily - before a searing pain slashed across his chest and he gasped, knees giving out, as he collapsed to the ground.

Crossing an arm across his chest, and hissing at the pain, he glanced up at Rey.

She had one of her sabers held shakily out at him, and she looked just as startled as he did - but she also looked horrified, a vacant look on her face like she was hearing something only she could hear.

Wincing a bit as he pulled himself into a sitting position, the corner of his mouth curved up. “No matter what the darkside may be telling you right now Rey,” he said quietly, dipping into the Force to sustain his dwindling life-force. “I forgive you. I love you. I always have, and always will.” Rey seemed to snap out of that vacancy, and her brown eyes welled up with tears as she choked out a sob and dropped her sabers, which deactivated as soon as they left her palms.

Luke could sense her presence again, and he smiled as the sunny yellow began to overtake the dark tendrils of fear she had been dwelling on for a month.

He could feel that light inside her growing stronger, and honestly? If this is the moment where he dies, Luke will die happy.

For his student, his daughter, had come back, and that was all he asked.

Rey dropped to his side, hesitantly reaching out to touch the wound her saber had left - the wound that was slowly draining away Luke’s life.

She inhaled shakily, and gently pressed her hand against the wound, and closed her eyes. Luke felt a slight warmth on his chest, and Rey’s brilliant aura seemed to glow.

With a start, Luke remembered Rey was on of his star students in Force Healing, even rivaling Grogu’s ability with it.

Letting out a small laugh, he pulled Rey into a hug as his wound sealed and the Force came flooding back into him, coiling through his presence like it had missed flowing in tandem with him.

Rey seemed to collapse into his arms, hugging him tightly around the neck as she let out her sobs. Luke hugged her just as tightly, gently running his fingers through her hair as he let their aura twine with each other, hoping it would provide comfort for her.

After a minute, five, or maybe even fifteen, Rey slowly pulled back, with watery brown eyes and a smile just as watery. Her gaze dropped down to his ripped robes, to where the wound had been, and Luke followed her guilty eyes.

A long, thin scar ran from his right shoulder to his left hip.

Reaching out with his gloved hand, Luke cupped Rey’s face and lifted it to meet his gaze.

“Remember Rey,” he said with a smile. “I will always forgive you.”

[its-my-whump]

Whumpcember2023 DAY 7 - Fainting

@whumpcember

Tw: gore, puking, implied domestic abuse

It was hardly 10 minutes ago, that that bastard of a stepfather punched him in his stomach multiple times.

Honestly he couldn't even remember why anymore, not that this sick fuck needed a reason whatsoever.

Now, they were sitting at the damn dinning table with Mom.

Andrew couldn't recall how he made it to the dinning room. He could hardly understand, how he was able to sit on a chair with the searing pain in his guts. He'd most definitely would be crawling under the covers just now and pray for someone to pull out the knife, he believed sticking in his lower abdomen.

His intestens protested, as if the last punch wasn't 10minutes ago, but 10 seconds.

He wasn't hungry, hardly was since this psycho moved back in.

Mom was looking at him kind of apoligizing, while he poked in his food half-hearted. Her face wanted to tell him, that she was sorry, that he had a stomachache. As if that bitch didn't knew what was going on.

Instead of the pain fading, it got worse by the minute. Cold sweat had started to trail down the crook of Andrews neck.

A bitter taste in the back of his throat. The glass of water went dangerously shaking towards his lips. The taste was watered down a bit, but didn't fade. Instead there was a red smear on the rim of the glass, when he put it back.

His whole body cramped. The psycho was adressing him, Mom's shrill voice somewhere inbetween. Even if Andrew had the capacity of deceifering what the fuck they wanted from him, he didn't care.

He wanted to place his hands under the edge of the table, cover them by the tablecloth for them shaking so bad, but he couldn't let go of the fork in his left hand.

It felt like his intestens were on fire. A cough crept up his throat. The fork finally fell out of his left and his hand went up. His right had placed itself against the searing pain in his guts reflexively. A warm spray of red instandly covered his left palm. The pain got even worse. His right arms looped itself even tighter around his belly, while his shoulders sank down to give himself the most possible comfort against the rising agony inside his stomach.

Stars exploded inside his vision, even after he had pressed his eyes close. The sound of rafting waves developed inside his ears. Another gush of gore came out of his mouth. The movement of his whole accomplishing that task let another burning spike explode. It felt like his intestens were trying to crawl out of him. His shoulders had started trembling, while Andrew desperately tried to falt himself against his screaming stomach.

He felt the world tilt and his strength fading. A second later, his tensionless form slipped from the chair and his right shoulder bumped into the hard floor. Another sting of pain briefly worse than his belly. A grunt must have slipped from his bloody mouth. Both hands now on his belly, keeping it from crawling itself through his abdominal wall.

The sound of chairs being pushed back forcefully on the wooden floor and heavy footsteps approaching even overtuned the blood rushing in his ears.

Another violent cramp shock him. His face was pressed against the cool floorboards as the world around him slowly faded away and oblivian reached for him.

whumpcember masterlist

[alexversenaberrie]

[sanitatemsss]

Whumpcember 2022 Day 7

@whumpcember

Fandom: marvel, clint centric

Warnings: discussion of past child abuse

Prompt: Day 7 - scars