#whumperless-whump-event

[kaciart]

Day 13 It's just a pebble: Avalanche / Stuck in the mountains / “Well, this wasn't how I thought the hiking trip would go.”

-

Patreon | Ko-Fi

[federaliszt]

i've had worse

"Good god. I leave you alone for two minutes, and you come back with a huge bleeding gash in your leg--"

"It's... just a scratch? I've had a lot worse."

"Had a lot worse, huh? Here, bite down on this rag and then tell me all about it while I stitch this up for you."

"Oka--hey, wait!"

[seth-whumps]

I MADE A WHUMP EVENT: get ready for July folks

welcome to the Whumperless Whump Event of July! for your sickfic, situational, and completely apersonal whump needs--comfort included, of course. follow @whumperless-whump-event for more information and details!

Image transcripts, tagging rules, and guidelines under the cut!

RULES

Any and all art types allowed (GIFs, drawings, music, writing, etc.)

No AI generated content allowed

OCs and Fandom works alike are welcome :)

Trigger and content tags required, even if the prompt explicitly requires the content (eg. Vomiting still needs the emetophobia tag)

NSFT and NSFW are allowed, if tagged appropriately. This blog will not reblog them, as minors do follow it. However, you're still free to write as you please :)

If enough interest is shown, I will make an Ao3 collection (edit: ao3 collection is made and can be found here)

Side note: please let me know if there's anything I can do to make this post or event more accessible. Should I put the image transcripts on the ID too? Is the formatting causing issues? What can I do?

This is not a contest, just an event. The only awards will be announcements for people who completed the whole darn thing. My entries will not receive any announcements or awards, because I'm hosting

TAGGING

Tag with, per example: #whumperless whump event day 1; #whumperless whump event; and (optional) #whumperless whump event day 1: alcohol as a sanitizer

Tag @whumperless-whump-event please! If not, I may not see it or be able to reblog it!

If desired, tag the medium you used

Trigger tag and content warn (including nsfw/nsft)

If posting early, tag with #wwe early entry. If posting late, tag with #wwe late entry. If posting just for fun, no need to tag these!

IMPORTANT:

There are NO OTHER RULES. Do one prompt! Do seven! Do 'em all! Repeat the same prompt six days in a row! Switch them around and do them all out of order! Post them eight months after the event is over! Finish the prompt list early! Write one long-ass story that deals with every prompt or do a one-sentence drabble for each one! Recommend your favorite scenes regarding the prompt! Write, draw, sing, play music, make playlists, do fic recs or show recs or episode recs or book recs, fucking crochet or something! FOLLOW THE VIBE. DO WHAT'S FUN.

Prompts (text):

Emergency First Aid: Self-done stitches / Alcohol as sanitizer / “It's just a scratch, I've had worse.”

Does your insurance cover this?: Car accident / Bystander caretaker / “Eyes open, ambulance is almost here.”

Like a record, baby: Vertigo / Struggling to stand / “Is the room spinning, or is it just me?”

It's every day bro: Chronic pain / Massage / “I'm used to it.”

Stealing my breath (give it back): Wheezing / Light-headed / “I'll count, you just breathe.”

Summer is a curse: Heat Stroke / Panting / “Why don't we… find some shade, quick?”

Accidental Cryotherapy: Falling through a frozen lake / Hypothermia / “Hey, c'mon, you gotta stay awake.”

Put your head on my shoulder: Migraine / Light & Sound Sensitivity / “I can close the curtains…”

White and red handkerchief: Coughing up blood / Can't speak / “You just can't shake that cough, can you?”

Your work is never finished: Forced to work while ill / Workplace emergency / “...sit down, I'm calling HR.”

A minor annoyance: Stuffy nose / Hate to be sick / “I'm fine, I can work.”

It's going down (I'm yelling timber): Building collapse / Trapped under rubble / “I can't move my legs.”

It's just a pebble: Avalanche / Stuck in the mountains / “Well, this wasn't how I thought the hiking trip would go.”

Lay down your sword: Fighting back a cold / Cuddling / “Just let yourself be sick so you can get better.”

I'm going down (you're yelling timber): Passing out / Exhaustion / “I've got you, let's sit down, I've got you.”

Say goodbye to filters: Half-conscious / Delirious / “You would never say that in your right mind…”

In hot water: Dangerously high fever / Cool baths / “We have to get that number down somehow.”

I don't see it: Hallucinations / Fever dreams / “It's just a nightmare. You're safe.”

The whump morning after: Tending to injuries / Domestic hurt comfort / “Let's check the bandages, okay?”

It's not fun if you're panicking: Stuck in an elevator / Claustrophobia / “Get me out.”

Where's the exit: Lost / Stuck in the wilderness / “Surely someone will notice we're gone.”

Better out than in: Nervous Stomach / Vomiting / “I got your hair, it's fine.”

Well, that doesn't taste right: Accidentally poisoned / Allergic reaction / “My tongue feels like bees, is that normal?”

Be one with the fish: Drowning / Rescue Breaths / “Why did you think that was a good idea?!”

We didn't start the fire: Severe burns / Running into flames / “I know it hurts. Breathe.”

That's no barn spider: Venomous bite / Arachnophobia / “You'll be okay, we can help.”

What's your name again?: Concussion / Temporary Amnesia / “I don't remember what happened to me.”

Nothing behind the eyes: Fully unconscious / Force feeding / “It's just me, go back to sleep.”

Wrong place, wrong time: Robbery / One of many hostages / “Stay behind me, I can take a hit.”

I don't mean to get emotional: Fear / Breaking point / “I can't stop crying, I'm sorry--”

Only way out is through: Tunnel collapse / Accidental Journey / “We can't just sit here and wait.”

ALTERNATES:

Seizure

Choking

Withdrawal

Mugged

Wild animal attack

Hangover

Strain/sprain

Broken bone

Bloody nose

Panic attack

[ghostlysoaps]

A Minor Annoyance

They’re back at base again and Ghost has been holed up in his office for the majority of the week in an attempt to get back on track with his ever-increasing backlog of paperwork. The knock on his door is therefore welcome, though surprising. He sits up straighter, wincing when several joints pop in protest, calling for them to come in.

Gaz leans himself against the doorframe. He, too, looks exhausted. Exhausted and irritated.

“I need your help wrangling Soap,” he says without preamble or an arduous attempt at small talk.

Ghost blinks at him.

“What?”

“He’s a stubborn bastard who won’t listen to reason,” Gaz shrugs. “And if it comes down to knocking him out in order to get him to rest, I’d rather have help carrying his leaden arse back to his room.”

Ghost blames sleep deprivation for the way he snorts.

“Alright,” he acquiesces, following behind the sergeant with amused wariness dogging his steps.

-

They find Soap outside surrounded by the scent of petrichor and bleary-eyed recruits. A gust of wind weaves around them, its chilling bite unmistakable where it tugs upon their hair and clothes, rustling through the pine-ridden area like an unexpected whisper. Ghost waits for Soap to send the group out on the track before he approaches, brow furrowed in response to the thickness layered over his voice. He'd sounded as if he spoke from deep in his throat, and with an air of a man pretending as if it didn’t pain him to do so. As he draws closer, Ghost allows the gravel beneath his feet to shift deliberately.

Soap jerks, swings his head around when Ghost comes to stand at his side, looking up at him with bloodshot eyes. The tip of his nose is red too, his cheeks a tad puffy, though he carries himself admirably regardless. Straight-backed and refusing to huddle into the oversized jacket he's wearing.

"Lt.? What're y'doing ‘ere?”

“I'm relieving you of your duties. Garrick can take it from here,” he replies, throwing Gaz a look that is met with surreptitious thumbs-up. He'll ask Price to look into leave for him. Soap's not the only one itching to work himself into an early grave by the looks of it.

It must be a cold day in hell, he muses, if I'm the one with the healthiest work-life balance at the moment.

“What?! Get tae and dinnae talk pish! I'm fine. I can work, Sir, I dinnae need–”

“That was an order, Sergeant. You can either leave on your own two feet or slung over my shoulder. Choice is yours.”

Soap's eyes narrow, his shoulders drawing up defensively, lips pulled back in a sneer. “You wouldn't dare.”

Which is about the worst thing he could've possibly said.

All at once Simon is twelve years old again with a defiant Tommy glaring daggers at him from across the stained rug, those fateful words a hiss through clenched teeth. Even the keen knowledge of their mother’s impending disappointment, how she'd give him a hushed dressing down in the aftermath of their scuffle, hadn't curbed his need to lunge for him. It's like the flip of a switch. Three simple words and suddenly Ghost is vibrating with the desire to prove Soap wrong. Some previously dormant code ingrained deep in his DNA flaring to life with all the speed of an oxygen fire.

Those memories carry him forward and the sudden shift in Johnny’s expression, the moment he realises he’s sealed his fate proper, sends a thrill skittering down his spine.

“Wait, Ghost, I–” is about as far as he comes before the words change into an unintelligible blend of Scottish nonsense, voice strained from having his diaphragm compressed. “Put me doon ye clarty bastard! Gaz!”

“Dream come true for you, huh?” Gaz says with a jaunty wave at their retreating backs, mirth etched into the crinkled lines around his eyes.

“I'll fuckin’ kill ye, ye clipe wopper! Lemme doon so ah can wring ‘is bleedin’ neck!” Soap barks, squirming in Ghost's grasp like a recalcitrant eel. It's a blessing that Soap's already running on fumes since, true to his callsign, it's damn near impossible to keep him securely slung over his shoulder.

By his third attempt to claw Ghost's back to shreds, Ghost sighs and pats him firmly on the rump. Soap instantly stills. Flushed to high-heavens if Ghost were to hazard a guess – not that he can see him from this angle. “Settle down, Sergeant, and I might be convinced to let you walk on your own.”

“Hate you,” Johnny wheezes.

Ghost grunts and maneuvers the door open, settling Johnny back on his feet again when it swings shut with a resounding thud. He steadies him when he wobbles on his feet and Johnny lets him with little fuss. Resigned to his fate he shuffles along after Ghost, who detours briefly to score each of them a cuppa. He ladles honey into Johnny’s mug and presses it into his freezing hands. Gets a muttered, unenthusiastic and intentionally mocking “cheers,” for it.

“You're a right cunt when you're sick.”

“Yer a right cunt all o’ the time,” Soap fires back. He's glaring mutinously into his least preferred beverage, cradled close to his chest while he watches Ghost tidy up after them. “Jus’ hate bein’ sick ‘s all. Feel proper boggin’ no matter how many times ah shower an’ my nose is both runny and stuffed as if th’ physics of tha is s'pose to make sense. Could'a powered through it.”

“That's how you end up forcefully strapped to a bed in medical suffering from pneumonia and severe dehydration.”

Johnny pauses. A small smile graces his face and Ghost hastily turns back to wiping down the counters to keep himself from being blinded.

One shouldn't stare directly into the sun after all.

“Speakin’ from experience, sir?”

Ghost doesn't answer, as if that isn't a reply in-and-of-itself, merely nudges Johnny back into moving. He gets him all the way to his door before Soap's brow creases in confusion. His mouth opens, closes, opens again while Ghost trudges inside with little fanfare, door left gaping in silent invitation. Johnny seizes it with both hands after dithering at his threshold a second longer.

He examines the impersonal space with keen interest, slurping obnoxiously at his tea as if to detract from how his hands flutter over scuffed paint and barren walls, his gaze catching over the miniscule signs someone is living there at all.

“Why'ahm I ‘ere, Ghost?” Soap asks when he's done, pinning him in place with the intensity of his stare. It's the same focus he dedicates to a particularly difficult math equation or sketching up blueprints with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel. It's a heady feeling to be on the receiving end of it. Heady and terrifying.

“Figured you'd appreciate the en-suite,” Ghost says, violently stamping down on the truth until it comes out in a statement easier to digest. “And someone needs to make sure you stay in place. Bloody flight risk that you are.”

You'd look good in my clothes, in my bed, as a permanent fixture here. This is as much for me as it is for you. A taste of what I can't have.

He hopes Soap doesn't read between the lines this time – always too perceptive for Ghost's questionable sanity.

“An’ where d'ye plan on sleeping?” Johnny smiles, a mote amused and as sweet as the honey lingering on his lips.

“Floor. Or Gaz's room if he doesn't delete those pictures he took.”

Johnny’s eyes go dark as sin.

“Oh, that'll be th’ least of his worries.”

“Sleep, MacTavish. You can come up with your convoluted revenge plot later.”

“Yes sir.” He gives a lazy salute and flops down on Ghost's bed with a grunt – boots and all, the absolute heathen. Ghost watches him rearrange himself into a position more befitting a person who's suffered a recent spinal fracture when Johnny peers up at him again from under thick lashes. “Dinnae think you're exempt from those, Lt. Ah know where ye live now.”

Ghost sighs and tosses the hoodie folded over his chair at Johnny’s face, taking great pleasure in closing the bathroom door in the face of Johnny's indignant name-calling.

-

Prompts via @whumperless-whump-event and @seth-whumps

[sparkchemy]

Whumperless Whump Event Day 9 - Coughing up blood / “You just can't shake that cough, can you?”

🐦‍⬛🥀

@whumperless-whump-event

Ref credit [x]

[whump-side]

Whumperless Whump Event

Day 29 - Wrong place, wrong time: One of many hostages

I hope he has paid overtime

@whumperless-whump-event

[dandylovesturtles]

Decided to write a quick little something for @whumperless-whump-event Day 4: chronic pain/"I'm used to it."

featuring, of course, Sidelined Leo!

like I said before, since it's disability pride month I'd like to do a few things for the Sidelined AU, so hopefully I will find time for more as the days go. For now, I hope you enjoy this!

-----

Leo can tell it's going to be a bad day the moment he wakes up.

The pain in his arms and legs has grown from it's constant dull thrum to a more present burn, and there's a pinch between his eyes that tells him a headache is on the way. Really, he's not surprised; the last few days have been really good. He even went out on a mission two days ago, and did a little skateboarding yesterday. It stands to reason that his body has crashed out on him.

Sometimes he feels angry and bitter about it. Today, he just feels a sort of resigned acceptance. And that means maybe it won't be such a bad day after all.

He hits the button on the side of the bed so it bends him into a reclined position, then fumbles around on his side table until his hand lands on his pill organizer. He should probably text someone to bring him water, but it feels like a pain, so he dry swallows them one by one and just resolves not to mention doing that to Dad or Raph.

Then he finally blinks the sleep out of his eyes and looks around his room and... darn it, his chair isn't here. Where'd he even leave it...

His memory is a complete blank on that one, so he sighs and clears his throat.

"Hey, Shell-man?"

There's only a second of silence before Shelldon's voice echoes from who even knows where. Donnie rigged his new room with more electronics than Leo will ever know about.

"S'up bro?"

"You know where my chair is?" he asks, like Shelldon can't track it instantly.

"You left it in the arcade, dude," comes the answer. "Want me to wheel it over?"

Yeah, no way he's getting himself to the arcade today. "Sure, thanks, Shelly."

"No problem, dude!"

Leo lets his head flop back on his pillows while he wants for his chair to be delivered. He fumbles around for his phone this time and takes a look at his reminders.

6:00 PM: Concert with Mikester

"Crap," he mutters, closing his eyes. Right, that yokai hip-hop group Mikey wanted to go see. Leo had promised he'd go with him, but he doubts he'll be able to do it now.

It's not that big a deal. Raph or Donnie will probably go with him if Mikey makes big enough puppy eyes at them. It's just, Leo had been kinda excited about it, too...

The dark buzz that heralds his anxiety flares up, and he sucks in a deep breath and lets it out slow. He doesn't want this day to turn terrible. He needs to relax and accept the things he can't change, like April always says. Even when it sucks.

There's a whir of electronics that signals the arrival of his chair. Leo waits until it parks itself next to his bed, then he swings his legs over the bed and stands up just long enough to sit down in the chair again. Even that leaves him feeling a little winded, but he doubts his arms could have handled the transfer so he doesn't bother trying.

He wheels around his room until he finds his big comfy unicorn hoodie, then drives out into the rest of the lair, making his way up the ramp to the kitchen. He can smell breakfast cooking, and hear Raph's voice.

"Morning fam," he says as he comes in, trying to keep his voice upbeat even though he already feels tired.

"Morning Leo!" Mikey echoes, turning around with a whole plate of waffles. His smile falters a little when he sees the chair and the hoodie. "Oof. Flare up?"

"Yeah," he admits, steering his chair into the empty part of the kitchen table. Mikey sets the waffle plate down, and without having to be asked Raph starts fixing some for Leo, with blueberries on top.

It took work for them both to find the line between helping and babying, but they're better at this now. Leo doesn't mind Raph helping him out this way, especially because he'd rather not make a mess of the kitchen table.

"Mikey, can you grab my fat fork?"

"It has a name," says a tired voice behind him, and Leo smirks as Donnie comes around the side and makes for the coffee machine.

"I just used it. It's the fat fork."

"It's a GeniusBuilt Secure Grip Adjustable Fork-"

"I'm not saying all that."

Donnie huffs. Mikey snickers, swinging around him to deliver the fork with the thick grip to Leo. He has another set with a loop that can secure to his hand if he needs it, but this one is fine for now.

"Here!

"Thanks Angelo."

"Did you take your meds this morning?" Raph asks.

"Yes, Mom," says Leo, rolling his eyes as he cuts off a bite of waffle.

"Really? 'Cause Raph didn't hear you ask anyone to bring you water-"

"I had some leftover Gatorade in my room," Leo lies quickly.

"Uh-huh." Raph looks at him skeptically. "Leo, you know taking pills without water hurts your throat."

"Meh meh meh, you'll hurt your throat," Leo repeats in a mocking voice. Raph reaches over like he's going to cuff Leo on the head, then seems to rethink it and steals some of his blueberries instead. "Hey!"

"You are all so noisy already," comes Splinter's voice, and he finally comes into the room to join them, wearing the robe he slept in. He looks up at Leo in his chair. "Are you in pain, Blue?"

Leo hums an affirmative. "It's not that bad, though," he adds, because it's not. Comparatively.

Now it's his dad's turn to look skeptical. "Are you sure?"

Leo grimaces. "It's... a little worse than normal," he amends. "But I can handle it."

"Mmm..." Splinter walks off to get in his own seat. "Let us know if it gets worse."

"Yeah, yeah..."

The conversation moves on to other topics, up until Leo's wheelchair beeps at him. He groans, glancing down at the battery indicator, which is firmly in the red.

"You forgot to charge it, didn't you?" asks Donnie, looking amused.

"Shut up, I've been busy!" Leo snaps back.

"If you left it on the charger when you aren't using it then this wouldn't happen."

"Alright, anyone else have any criticisms for me today?" he says, except it comes out a shade too bitter and Donnie's grin falters.

Good job, Leon, way to be a dick. He winces, focusing again on his waffles. His arm is sore from the effort of eating and he wants to crawl back in bed and stay there, which is exactly the sort of attitude he's been trying to avoid.

"...I have the backup chair in the lab if you need it," says Donnie. A peace offering.

"Thanks," says Leo, returning it.

So after breakfast, Donnie helps him swap chairs. His main one is put on the charger and he wheels himself to the living room with the backup, then calls for Raph.

"Think you can help me get comfy, big guy?" he asks.

"Of course," says Raph with a grin. "What do you want?"

It's nice that he asks now, instead of assuming.

Leo directs him to help him onto the couch, then Raph gets him his fluffy blue blanket to cover him up. Even though he took his meds, he can feel the pain radiating at his hips and knees and he guesses he's going to need more later. He sets an alarm on his phone and settles in with a Jupiter Jim flick to fall asleep to.

He's not out yet when he hears the pad of feet, then feels the couch dip as Mikey sits next to him.

"Hey Leo," he says softly, and Leo gives a hum to let him know he's still awake. "You think... you're gonna feel up for the concert tonight?"

Oh right. Shoot. It had already slipped Leo's mind, and now he feels guilty all over again.

He opens his eyes and tilts his head so he can see Mikey. "I don't think so. I'm sorry."

"You don't gotta apologize!" says Mikey quickly. "I'm sorry you're having a rough day."

"It's fine," says Leo. "I'm used to it."

"I'm still sorry," says Mikey firmly. He gets up, then comes over so he can give Leo a very awkward couch hug. "I wish you didn't have to hurt," he says, sincerely.

Leo leans into the hug. Feels the dark buzz of anxiety ebb away.

"Hey, it's alright. All you guys make it easier."

Mikey beams at that, bouncing back up. "Hey, I know," he says. "I'll get Donnie to help me set up a sweet livestream so you can see the concert from right here!"

They don't have to go to all that trouble for him. But Leo looks up at his little brother's shining smile and can't say no.

"That'd be really cool," he says, and Mikey claps his hands.

"Yes! Okay, I'll go get Dee and we'll get on it!"

He races away. Leo chuckles, curling up under his blanket.

Maybe it won't be such a bad day after all.

[asidian]

Pixie Dust

by: Asidian

Fandom: Dead Boy Detectives

Pairing: Charles/Edwin

Event: July 2024 Whumperless Whump Event: Day 16 @whumperless-whump-event

Collab art: By the incredible kaciart

Warnings: idiots in love, altered mental states, truth serum, past torture

Excerpt:

Charles kneels down by Edwin's side and gets an arm around him – levers him up to sitting. Edwin blinks, slowly, like he's some sort of owl that just got walloped upside the head with a rolled-up newspaper.

"I am not prone to naps at all," he declares, as though he suspects Charles has gone daft.

"I know," says Charles. "Funny, innit? But here you are."

Edwin blinks again. He looks down at the mushroom circle, and then up at Charles.

"Charles," he says. "You have the most remarkable eyelashes."

[cuddlepilefics]

I’m going down (you’re yelling timber)

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Hyunjin

Caregivers: Stray Kids

Prompts: Passing out / Exhaustion / “I’ve got you, let’s sit down, I’ve got you.”

@whumperless-whump-event

No one’s POV.:

With the way their schedules had been filled to the very brink lately, Hyunjin was impressed how the group was still going strong. For some reason, the members didn’t seem any more tried than they’d usually be, while he himself felt close to crumbling. His whole body ached and a persistent headache was pulsing behind his temples. Had been for the past week if he was being honest. 3racha worked even more than him, which Hyunjin knew because he repeatedly returned to an empty dorm, yet they seemed not to be too affected by it. At least that way, Hyunjin could shower right away when he came home from his dance practice with Minho and Felix and didn’t need to wait his turn.

That shower turned out quite long because Hyunjin’s tense muscles finally relaxed when the hot water hit his shoulders. He barely found the energy to wash himself down, his arms suddenly feeling like cooked spaghetti, and it was obvious that he’d be out like a light the moment his head hit the pillow. A shudder ran down Hyunjin’s back, the hot water suddenly feeling cold to him, causing goosebumps to prick at his skin. He braced himself against the tiled wall as his ears started to ring. In a daze, he turned off the water and stumbled out of the shower, clumsily wrapping himself in his towel before plopping down on the closed toilet seat.

Holding his swimming head in his hands, Hyunjin took a few panting breaths and felt shaky all over. Maybe he shouldn’t have turned the water temperature up so high because now his circulation was wonky and he didn’t trust himself to stand and get ready for bed. Oh how badly he wanted to be in his bed right now. That would take a while though because Hyunjin only found the strength to get dressed after taking deep breaths for five minutes. He had to sit down again while he brushed his teeth.

A few sips of water might help with the lingering dizziness but the kitchen was in the opposite direction of his bedroom, so Hyunjin was torn. If 3racha had been home, he would’ve asked someone to fetch him a drink but that was out of question now. In the end, he decided to go to bed without a drink. His head pounded and he had to hold back tears as he crawled into bed, unsure how exactly he was going to make it through his schedule the next day.

Lucky for him, their schedule started at the studio the following morning and while his headache hadn’t improved, he wasn’t dizzy anymore. It was also nice to not be alone at the dorm anymore and he shot Jisung a tired smile when he plopped down next to him at the dining table, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. The rapper looked half asleep still, about as exhausted as Hyunjin felt and the dancer was relieved that he wasn’t the only one feeling drained. On the other hand, Jisung had only gotten home after Hyunjin had already gone to bed, yet he was up and running at the same time.

Watching the rapper eat made Hyunjin’s stomach turn and he glanced at his coffee in distaste. He had no appetite at all but if he wanted to take something for his headache, he should have at least a small breakfast. Too exhausted to prepare himself some proper food, Hyunjin grabbed some crackers and a small box of banana milk, slowly nibbling one of the crackers. It felt wrong in his mouth, taking all his willpower to swallow. Figuring it’d be easier to just wash it down with the banana milk, the dancer took a swig and startled when it triggered his gag reflex. Hyunjin covered his mouth in a panic, the drink eventually going down but not without choking him. Watching the older double over coughing, Jisung guessed his friend had aspirated, too sleepy to pay attention to eating, and reached over to pat the other on the back.

When Hyunjin finally managed to catch his breath, he thanked Jisung weakly but excused himself to his room, claiming he’d finish his food while getting ready. In truth, he sat on the edge of his bed, trashcan planted between his knees as he painfully slowly finished his crackers. They left his mouth and throat itchy because he hadn’t dared to drink anymore but that was soon to change. There was no way he’d be able to swallow his painkillers dry, not after the crackers had dried him out like this, so eyeing the banana milk in distaste, he hurriedly popped the pills into his mouth and downed his drink like a shot. Lurching forward with a closed-mouth gag, Hyunjin forced himself to breathe deeply and shuddered. Goosebumps had spread on his arms, while he broke into a sweat. His stomach still churned when he wiped his brow with a trembling hand, dumping the milk carton into the trash. The pills were down, so… mission accomplished.

He'd be lying if he claimed they were helping at all though. There was still that pressure in his head, making it hard to think clearly but at least, his stomach had calmed down. He was lucky that their dance practice was only scheduled for the late afternoon and he’d have a couple of hours to get his bearings. Maybe once he was more awake, he’d be able to stomach something more nutritious that’d give him the energy to keep going. Hyunjin probably shouldn't be happy that his friends were similarly tired but a small part of him way. With all of them lacking energy, it was relatively quiet and sitting with his fellow dancers, Hyunjin eventually dared lean his head on Minho’s shoulder. It still ached and his neck felt too sore to support its weight. To his surprise, the older neither pushed him away or teased him for it, merely continuing to go over his lyrics.

Sitting on Hyunjin’s other side, Felix’ hand snuck up his hyung’s back and gently kneaded the tense muscles in his neck. The melting tension caused him to slump further into Minho, which startled the second oldest but he was quick to adjust his position to properly support his dongsaeng’s side. “Are you okay?”, Minho asked quietly enough only for Hyunjin to hear. The younger nodded slightly, breathing: “Tired. Head hurts.” – “Painkillers?”, Minho offered, reaching up to run his fingers through his dongsaeng’s hair. “Took some”, Hyunjin mumbled but kept his eyes closed, “Not helping much though.” He drifted up soon after that, too out of it to witness the hushed conversation between his fellow dancers.

Felix kept massaging Hyunjin’s neck and shoulders while the older was asleep, hoping to release some of the tension to ease his pain. At some point, Chan had come over to feel the boy’s forehead but couldn’t detect a fever. Giving the leader s sad smile, Minho hummed: “It’s probably exhaustion. He’s been going all out during practice every single time.” Chan sighed, that truly sounded like something Hyunjin would do. “If he wakes up, let me know, please. I’ll have him warm up and record his lines right away, so he and go home and rest after that. You and Felix will be fine teaching us the choreo without him later, right?”, the leader confirmed, earning a relieved nod from Minho. The dancer couldn’t bear watching his dongsaeng destroy himself like that anymore.

As soon as Hyunjin sat up and reached for his water bottle, Minho informed him of what they had worked out with Chan. It should’ve already been red flag that the younger just thanked him and started to warm up despite his voice still being thick with sleep. The Hyunjin they knew would’ve put up a fight, insisting that he was fine to keep working and especially refusing to be sidelined during dance practice. It seemed he was truly more exhausted than he let on. He even swayed slightly when he had to get up from the couch because he was called into the recording booth. Laughing awkwardly, he slurred something about his legs having fallen asleep from sitting so long and shakily entered the recording booth to receive instructions which segment he should start with.

Hyunjin felt truly lucky that 3racha were so patient and understanding with him because nothing seemed to be going his way. Despite warming up, his voice still came out flat and with his tongue feeling heavy at the bottom of his mouth, he had frequent slip ups in his pronunciation. Everyone was understanding and tried to reassure him but Hyunjin couldn’t stop the tears from blurring his vision, making his voice sound even more choked. The stuffy air inside the recording booth certainly wasn’t helping and with his breath coming faster, it didn’t take long for the dancer to feel lightheaded. He lasted surprisingly long till the dizziness hit with the same intensity as it had the previous night. Sweat beaded on his forehead and it felt like all the air had been used up, no matter how much he breathed, it didn’t seem to be enough.

When his vision darkened, Hyunjin shakily reached for the lyric stand, clammy hand clutching cold metal. His ears rang too badly for him to hear Chan calling out to him over the speakers but goosebumps spread on his skin when a gust of wind hit his arm from Chan pushing through the door of the recording booth. Strong arms wrapped around his middle and Hyunjin let himself slump into the Aussie’s chest. “I’ve got you, let’s sit down, I’ve got you.” That promise seemed to be enough for Hyunjin’s fuzzy mind to let go of the last remnants of consciousness, his knees buckling while Chan guided him to the floor. Changbin was by their side in an instant, elevating his dongsaeng’s leg. Cursing himself for not having picked up on the signs, despite Hyunjin acting so out of character, Minho was up off the couch and with them in no time, the tiny recording booth getting cramped. He swiped the lyrics sheets off the stand, fanning Hyunjin’s pale face while feeling his pulse.

Hyunjin’s head thumped as he slowly came to, making him grimace. “Easy”, Chan shushed when the dancer tried to sit up. Changbin carefully laid the younger’s legs down and slipped out of the booth for one, to give them some space and two, to fetch his dongsaengs some water. Carding Hyunjin’s hair back, Chan hummed: “How’re you feeling?” The dancer drew a deep breath before mumbling: “Like putty. Really sore and dizzy putty though.” – “Not surprised your limbs feel sluggish and heavy”, Minho winced sympathetically, rubbing Hyunjin’s arm, “You’ve been demanding far too much of your body lately. Do you think you can stand if we help you? It’s really stuffy in here and I doubt that’s helping with the dizziness at all.”

Hoisting Hyunjin to his feet, the two eldest supported him to the couch and made him lay down there again. Felix took a seat next to him and comfortingly played with his hair while they tried to figure out their next course of action. Sending Hyunjin back to the dorm by himself was out of the question now but there also was no point of dragging him along to their schedule and make him try to rest on an uncomfortable couch in a dance practice room with music blasting from the speakers. None of them would be able to accompany him though because they’d have to learn a new choreography today and Minho and Felix were needed as their instructors.

“Hyun-e, we don’t have a good feeling sending you home alone. Not with what just happened. It’ll be too loud to rest in the practice room but you could stay here at the studio. The couch is all yours, we’d bring you lunch and collect you after practice”, Chan mused. The mention of food made Hyunjin’s stomach turn but he didn’t dare argue. Scratching the back of his neck, the leader hummed: “The second option would be manager-nim taking you back to the dorm and keeping you company while you eat. After that your not to leave your bed for anything other than using the bathroom. Safety precaution ‘cause we don’t want to come home to you passed out on the floor.” – “Option two, please, but I dunno if I can stomach anything, hyung”, Hyunjin muttered, resting his hand on his middle, “Don’t feel like eating.” – “The two of you can pick up something light, some soup maybe, on the way back”, Chan smiled, “I trust you to try your best and if you can only handle a couple of bites at a time, you’ll just try to snack throughout the rest of the day and have really small servings, okay?” The dancer nodded weakly, thanking Chan. He was glad that he could finally rest up.

[kaciart]

Accidental Cryotherapy: Falling through a frozen lake / Hypothermia

Collab with @asidian scenes from their fic Shelter From The Cold

-

Patreon | Ko-Fi

[federaliszt]

Trapped Under Rubble...

and the water level is rising.

and the building is on fire.

and their worst enemy finds them.

and their phone is four feet away, well out of reach.

and their voice has gone hoarse from yelling for help.

and they can just barely move, wriggling a few feet forward, but when they do, the rubble shifts and ends up crushing them even more painfully.

and they're in so much pain they throw up, and have to just lay there lifelessly next to their own vomit and blood until someone comes to dig them out.

[whumperless-whump-event]

ATTENTION

This is the new blog for the Whumperless Whump Event of July! Tag me instead of @seth-whumps. Reblogs will be done from here. New information will be posted here. Thanks for coming along, y'all!

[ghostlysoaps]

Emergency First Aid

He finds Ghost in the bathroom, needle and thread in crimson-stained hands. 

White porcelain muddled with grime and blood, smeared across the cubicle glass. A bottle of something see-through sitting on the lip of the tub – the label near illegible by the fingerprints wrapped around it. Every detail pointing towards it being a scene from some B-list horror flick. Except it can't be. Because Johnny’s nails dig into the palms of his hands and pain has no presence in dreams.

Ghost's skin is almost as pale as the cradle he sits in. Johnny can see the stark blue of his veins through the fragile skin of his wrists. A far more flattering colour on him than red, it's why he pretends he doesn’t know where his favourite henley ended up.

"Get out of my fucking room, Soap."

Johnny nods and then proceeds further into the room, careful to avoid the droplets of blood staining the tiles in a fucked-up breadcrumb trail.

Ghost levels him with an unamused glare, a non-verbal "go away," ringing louder than if he'd said it outright. 

He ignores that too.

The stitching is neither crude nor neat when he leans in for a closer look. Serviceable. Bound to scar. It might have regardless, medical ain't miracle workers, but it might, might have left a thinner mark.

"Soap?"

Ghost's eyes are brown as jasper, doe-wide, extruding exhaustion and warmth – in spite of how much effort he puts into burying that bleeding heart of his. They track Johnny’s progress warily. Glides over him when he wraps his own fingers around the bottle, fingers a good half-inch shorter than the red stains already there. Johnny knows all this despite not looking. Because they've been here before. Too often for his liking. 

He sets about cleaning the tacky trails of blood from Ghost’s skin. 

"Johnny?"

Why are his hands shaking? They're not supposed to do that he doesn't think.

"It's just a scratch, I've had worse."

His tongue unsticks from where it lies dead and heavy in his mouth. "I fuckin' know. 'M not blind."

Warm, calloused hands envelop his own. They stop him from digging deeper welts into his own skin. Massages gently until Johnny, against his will, unclenches and unfolds like a flowering bloom at the first hint of sunlight.

"This won't be what kills me–"

"Haud yer wheesht! Whit this shoddy excuse fer sutures anything's–"

"–because I've no intention of leaving you yet," Ghost– Simon continues, as if Johnny hadn't interrupted him at all. "I've clawed myself back from the edge of hell more times than I care to count." He knocks their heads together, one hand moving to thread fingers though Johnny’s hair. "It's much easier now that I have something to come back to."

Johnny takes a moment to process and sift through the wreckage those words leave behind.

"Take yer damn mask off an' say tha' to my face," he growls.

And Simon doesn't hesitate for a second. He peels the mask off, his second skin, as if it's easier than breathing. As if Johnny’s words were the decree of a higher power he's helpless to obey. Scarred skin and chapped lips and dark circles blending into greasepaint greets him – a sight no longer unfamiliar, but a privilege to behold nonetheless. 

"I-" is as far as Simon comes before Johnny is surging forward to take his bottom lip between his teeth. He kisses him like something feral and starved. As if he could crawl into Simon's mouth if he tried hard enough. Push through muscle, bone and sinew to make space for himself in the hollow of his ribcage.

He doesn't like the anger with which he devours him – the ever-present companion snarling in his chest – but he needs him to understand. Thinks that if he tries hard enough Simon might taste the words lodged firmly behind his molars. I can't stand to lose you. It scares me to the point of losing my breath. I love you. I love you. I love you. 

For all his rage, for all the fiery passion with which he lashes out, in the end it all stems from fear.

"Could've at least gone to medical, ye absolute weapon," he bites out, one hand stressing over the skin right beneath Simon's wound.

"Couldn't stand the thought of anyone touching me," Simon murmurs, catching Johnny’s wrist the moment he goes to pull away as if burnt. "'S better now. I'd have told you to fuck off proper if I didn't–" he cuts himself off, the tips of his ears going pink.

Johnny fills in the blanks, eyes falling shut for the fraction of a second.

"Dinnae deep down wan' me to be here."

Simon shrugs.

Johnny exhales, leans forward and rests his forehead to Simon's shoulder, kisses him sweetly right after.

"Let me help you."

"Please." 

He's glad to be looking at Simon now because Simon, whenever Ghost has fled his visage, is an open book. And the way he's looking at Johnny? It's as if he'd taken every soft, sweet thing Johnny feels for him and is reflecting it right back.

With another steadying breath, Johnny gets to work. Gauze and adhesive tape, as quick as he dares so as to not prolong the pain. And when he's done he brushes his lips over the white bandaging, looking up through his lashes when the simple gesture of affection causes Simon's breath to hitch. Keeps to his knees despite the ache in them.

"You come to me next time," Johnny says, a plea more so than the demand he'd hoped for.

Simon reaches for him, cups his stubbled cheek in hand, thumb rubbing in broad strokes across a near imperceptible scar there – his next words ringing with the gravity of church bells and promises spoken within. 

"Alright, Johnny."

---

Prompts via @whumperless-whump-event and @seth-whumps

[sparkchemy]

Whumperless Whump Event Day 16 - Half-conscious / Delirious / “You would never say that in your right mind…”

Twyrine loosens the tongue they say. It's also a remedy for memory. There's a high chance that Daniil won't recall his drunken rambling in the morning, but someone else will...

[kirbys-lover]

Late post bcs I had no signal, but here is day 3 of the whumperless whumper event!

"Like a record, baby."

Vertigo | struggling to stand | "Is the room spinning, or is it just me?"

Something was wrong with Grayson. Damian knew his brother had hit his head pretty hard on patrol, but he was still acting... weird. What was more concerning was the fact that he didn't remember hitting his head, or even coming home from patrol.

"I'm fine, Dami," he insisted, but Damian didn't believe him for a second. He was stuttering, swaying, and struggling to stand.

"I find that difficult to believe, master Dick," Alfred said, appearing seemingly from thin air. "Given that people who are 'fine' should be able to walk in a straight line."

"I can't go to the med bay. B would be pissed, seeing as this would be the third time this month," Dick said, rubbing his temples and leaning heavily on the wall.

"That is no good reason to ignore your well-being," he said. Dick stayed stubbornly silent. Alfred sighed. "At least sit down before you fall down."

Dick allowed himself to be gently guided to a chair, still unable to walk straight. His eyes began to lose focus as he sat down, and his face became pale.

"Grayson, I believe you should follow Pennyworth's orders," Damian insisted. His brother did not answer.

"Grayson?" He repeated. His brother did not stir. "Grayson, what-" he cut himself off when Dick began to convulse. Small spasms for a few seconds, before his back arched aggressively, causing him to fall off of the chair.

"Master Dick!" Alfred cried, lunging to catch him as he fell out of the chair. Damian ended up getting there first, catching Dick before he could hit his head.

Dick's back arched again, causing him to hit his head on the chair despite Damian's best efforts. He quickly moved to get the chair out of the way but found that Alfred was already on it.

"Master Damian, fetch master Bruce immediately," Alfred said, sounding like he was trying to be calm, but Damian could see right through it. Alfred was terrified.

It took a moment for the words to register. He hadn't been able to get his eyes off of his brother, who was still convulsing, foamy vomit at his lips.

The moment they did register, he took off towards the cave.

////////////

The moment he reached his father, he began shouting.

"Father, you must help Grayson!" He cried.

Bruce turned to face him. "Is he hurt again? That'll be the third time this month..."

"He is seizing!" Damian shouted.

At this, his father's face grew pale, and he needed no further explanation. He rushed out of the cave, Damian trailing behind him.

//////////

By the time they got to Grayson, his seizure had ended, but he still looked... wrong. He was panting, and while his eyes were open, they seemed to look straight through Damian.

"Grayson?" He said, kneeling down and gently shaking Dick's shoulder. He did not react.

"Damian," his father said, gesturing for him to move away from his brother.

"No!" Damian said, shaking his head defiantly.

"Damian, he needs the med bay."

"He... he will not answer me!" Damian cried.

"He's just had a seizure, Damian. He's gonna be out of it for a while, but we need to get him to the med bay so that we can figure out what happened and keep it from happening again," Bruce said.

"I believe I know what happened," Damian said as his father carefully cradled Dick in his arms. "When he returned from patrol, he said he had a head injury, but did not remember what happened."

"Dammit..." Bruce whispered, and dashed off to the med bay, Dick in his arms. Alfred followed them briskly out the door.

Damian was suddenly left alone, feeling bewildered. How had what he'd said changed the severity of the situation so drastically?

He ran after them, but when he got to the doors of the med bay, only Tim was there.

"Let me in, Drake," he spat.

"I can't do that, Damian," Tim said gently.

"Then I have no choice but to force you," he said.

"Damian, please," Tim said. "We can't help him with you underfoot. With me, Bruce, Leslie, and Alfred all trying to help him, there just isn't enough space. You do want him to be okay, don't you?"

It was a low blow, but unfortunately, Drake's logic made sense. Damian just grumbled and sat down on the floor. If Drake wasn't going to let him in, he was just going to wait right there.

And wait, he did.

//////////

An hour later, he was beginning to get... anxious. He wasn't scared. He wasn't. Damian Wayne Al Ghul did not get scared. But after Grayson's... episode... okay, maybe he was a little scared, but simply because he didn't want to lose his big brother.

Unable to bear the anxiety, he burst through the doors, determined to find out what was going on.

"Damian-" Bruce began when he saw him.

"Let him stay," Tim cut him off. Bruce sighed in resignation.

"Where is Grayson?" Damian asked, not seeing his brother. Tim gestured to the curtain behind him.

Damian wasted no time in opening the curtain, revealing his brother lying still. He didn't look half as bad as he had before, but he was still pale, and there was now a tube coming out of his head.

"What is wrong with him?" Damian asked.

"His brain was swelling. We've got it under control now, but he could've died," Bruce said solemnly.

Damian just nodded and took a seat next to his brother. He appeared to be asleep.

"Grayson?" Damian said, gently shaking his brother.

"I would advise you not to wake him. He needs rest," Alfred said.

"Mph. Too late," Dick said groggily. "Is the room spinning, or is it just me?"

Damian smirked. "I will not dignify that with an answer."

Dick chuckled. "Are you okay? I heard you were there."

"Do you... not remember?" Damian asked.

"Nope. Leslie said that's normal, though."

"Oh," Damian replied simply. "To answer your question, I am fine. You are the one who is injured."

"I know," Dick replied. "It just might've scared you, is all."

"Tt. I do not get scared, Grayson. You know this," Damian said, but his voice still shook slightly.

Dick smiled at him. "I'm sorry for scaring you, Dami."

Damian did not answer. He would never admit it, but today had scared him. At least he knew his brother would be okay.

[tabbytabbytabby]

Just A Scratch

Word Count: 883 words

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: 9-1-1

Relationship: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Tommy Kinard

Tags: Established Relationship, Established Evan "Buck" Buckley/Tommy Kinard, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Evan "Buck" Buckley, Worried Tommy Kinard, POV Tommy Kinard, Tommy Kinard Takes Care of Evan "Buck" Buckley, Love Confessions, Soft Evan "Buck" Buckley/Tommy Kinard, Blood and Injury, Light Angst

Summary: When Evan gets hurt during a date, Tommy worries.

Read on AO3

For @whumperless-whump-event Day 1: “It's just a scratch, I've had worse.”