#whumprilday1
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Whumpril 2024 - Day 1 - Limp
Hehehe I've threatened this idea before c:<
TWs: Drugging, collapse, poisoning
"I thought I said I didn't need a smoothie?" Mariano grinned despite his questioning protest as Dimitri slid into his passenger seat. He held two cups, one a brilliant pink and the other a rich purple, and didn't hesitate to shove the purple one towards Mariano.
"Don't think about it, stupid, it was free. They fucked up the previous person's order and the guy threw a fit and left." Dimitri said, rolling his eyes and taking a sip of his own. "The barista stormed out and everything too, the person who made mine had to stop their shit to take over. So they offered it to me."
"Oh?" Mariano took a sip from his before setting it in his cup holder so that he could drive. "Guess we were lucky, you got a show and I got a surprise blueberry smoothie."
"And Rat got a free pup cup, too, so both of my favorite dogs got something." Dimitri laughed as Mariano swatted at his shoulder, settling his little hairless dog's carrier onto the floor board. "C'mon, stop pouting and drive, Laredo's wanting me to join him on his stream in half an hour."
Mariano laughed, putting his car into gear. "Alright, alright. Roll down your window, too. I haven't gotten around to recharging my AC yet and she doesn't need to cook."
The drive was quick, just a ten minute jaunt back to the house that the other war mages shared on the edge of town. Dimitri waved to Mariano as he sat down on the couch with his laptop and smoothie, smiling as Mariano settled in to start going through manager applications for the coffee shop. It was about time--the circles under his eyes were getting to be too permanent for Dimitri’s liking. "Text if you need anything, I'll have my notifications on."
Mariano waved in return, giving him a quick smile as he took another long drink. Dimitri slipped into Laredo’s room, donning the pair of headphones with a unicorn horn and horse ears–Laredo was fiercely insistent that he always got the cat ear headphones. It was “part of his brand.”
Dimitri just thought he looked cute in them.
They were half an hour into “two people control one character in Bornsouls 2” when Dimitri’s phone lit up with a message from Mariano.
soemthing is worng dimirti
Dimitri froze up, frowning as he looked down. “I…am going to check on our boyfriend.” Dimitri stood, snatching his phone up and setting the headphones down on their stand. He had just gotten his fingers around the doorknob when it sounded like someone dropped one of Laredo’s weights in the hallway.
When he ripped open the door, ice filled his veins. Mariano was sprawled on the floor of the hallway, facedown on the carpet and looking like he hadn’t even tried to catch himself. In an instant, Dimitri was on the stairway of the infiltration drill building, with the dawning realization that he’d poisoned the new kid far, far past what he’d intended.
There was no Manuel this time, though, no Izan. They were both at work. There was no medical backup to call for. No one would be there in forty-five seconds. “Laredo!” He shouted, urgency pulling his voice tight as he sprinted to Mariano’s side and pulled him into his arms.
Mariano was completely limp as Dimitri manhandled him and pressed his ear to Mariano’s chest. He could feel him breathing, shallow and too-quick. He could hear his heartbeat, just as fast. His expression was entirely neutral, with an awful paleness starting to creep into his lips and cheeks. “Call emergency services! He’s breathing but he’s not waking up.”
“I am!” Laredo shouted back, appearing in the doorway with his phone pressed to his ear. “Yes–yes, that’s our address. My boyfriend just collapsed–yes. He is, and we know first aid. Okay, you–ten minutes?”
Dimitri growled as he shifted Mariano in his arms again, moving Mariano’s head to rest on his shoulder. He could smell the blueberries on his breath. Was this what Manuel experienced back then? It made his stomach churn. “Ten fucking minutes? They’d better be speeding or–”
“They’re going as fast as they can, Dimitri–yeah, no, no, it wasn’t a fight, we were playing a video game and heard him hit the floor. Dimitri’s just worried–the…the victim’s name is Mariano. Yeah, I’m Laredo. Dimitri’s the one keeping an eye on him. No, he didn’t choke, we don’t know what happened, he was okay earlier.”
Dimitri remembered something, then. The barista, the one who made the drink, the one who’d stormed off; he hadn’t ever seen them before. He always went to this smoothie place. The employees all knew him. They all liked him.
That new barista had added a packet of something into the smoothie. He hadn’t heard the man’s order. He’d just assumed it was some artificial sweetener, or other flavoring.
“The smoothie was poisoned.” Dimitri blurted out.
Laredo froze, cutting himself off. “The what?”
Dimitri repeated himself, more urgently. “Someone didn’t want their smoothie so we got it for free–Laredo, this sounds insane, but I think the smoothie was poisoned. It was a powder. The cup–it should still be on the side table!”
“Oh–yes, yeah, we think our boyfriend’s drink might’ve been tampered with. No, no allergies, no fainting conditions. Yes, we still have the cup, it hasn’t been washed out.”
A low groan from Mariano made everything else fall away. Dark eyes fluttered, pact rings just barely peeking out beneath his lashes. “‘Mitri…?” He managed, barely past a whisper. “It's hard to breathe…”
“Don’t talk right now.” Dimitri said, cradling Mariano’s face with one hand and shifting him in his arms again. “You’ve been poisoned, help is coming.”
“Y’sir.”
Dimitri felt heat roaring behind his eyes. “Eyes on me.” He could see Mariano struggling to listen, how his lashes fluttered with the effort. Dimitri’s mouth opened again before he could stop it. “I swear Mariano, I didn’t–”
Mariano smiled, his usual faint flicker of an expression. “I know.” He whispered back, turning his face to nuzzle into Dimitri’s palm. “Y’wouldn’t.”
Dimitri sobbed, clutching Mariano close as tears started to fall. They rolled down his face and into Mariano’s hair. Laredo’s voice disappeared as Mariano reached up to hold Dimitri’s hand in return. Only the approaching sirens broke through the rushing chaos in Dimitri’s head.
All that mattered was that help was on the way, Mariano was awake, holding onto him, and that he still trusted him.
@honeybees-125 @inscrutable-shadow @whumperofworlds @bxtterflystxtches
#whump#Whumpril2024#whumprilday1#Limp#day 1#Drugging whump#Collapse#Dimitri#Laredo#Mage of violence#Modern au#Poisoning whump
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Red Alert/ Distress Call/ Panic Attack
@whumpril day 1 (few days late)
CW: panic attacks, brief mention of blood, implied suicidal ideation, concern about self harm, dissociation, PTSD
Caretaker knew something was wrong as soon as they saw Whumpee’s name pop up on their phone. Whumpee never called. They hated talking on the phone. Even when something actually warranted a call Whumpee was more likely to send a text. Which more often than not Caretaker wouldn’t see for hours.
“Whumpee?” They said a little too loudly when they picked up the phone, causing a few of their co-workers to look up at them annoyed. On the other end of the phone Whumpee didn’t respond. All Caretaker could hear was heavy, ragged breathing, like Whumpee was running from something.
“Whumpee?” Caretaker repeated “Whumpee are you there? Is everything okay?”
“Caretaker.” Whumpee finally spoke. They sounded out of breathe and their voice lacked its usual force “Caretaker. I - I” They paused for several breathes as Caretaker held their phone in a white knuckle grip, trying not to speak over Whumpee. Trying to let them get the words out on their own.
“Red” Whumpee finally said with a gasp.
Caretaker was up and moving before Whumpee had finished the word. Rushing through their office and towards the exit.
“I’m on my way. Where are you?”
Whumpee wasn’t good at talking about their feelings. Even before Whumper it was something they didn’t like doing, and preferred to keep an emotionless mask at all times. Since Whumper though, holding that mask had gotten harder and somehow more important to them. When they couldn’t hold the mask anymore though, and it cracked, Whumpee struggled to explain what was going on. Their emotions came out in violent outbursts and debilitating panic attacks that they couldn’t control or explain. Overtime Whumpee and Caretaker had managed to come up with a code that Whumpee could use to explain to Caretaker what was going on inside their head.
Green meant everything was okay, and Caretaker was misinterpreting the situation. Yellow meant Whumpee was on edge, but still in control. Orange was for panic attacks. And red? Red meant Caretaker needed to drop everything and get to Whumpee quick.
“Whumpee? Where are you?” Caretaker repeated when Whumpee didn’t respond to them the first time.
“I’m sorry” Whumpee gasped, their voice was sounding more and more distanced, like they were falling into a trance. Caretaker began to panic a little, imagining Whumpee lost someplace and totally dissociating. Doing something stupid or dangerous, and Caretaker not being able to get to them in time.
“Just tell me where you are Whumpee” They insisted in a forced calm voice.
“Home.” Whumpee said and Caretaker breathed a sigh of relief.
“Okay. I’m on my way. I’m already in the car. Just stay on the phone with me okay?”
“I broke the mirror.”
“Alright. We’ll deal with that. Are you hurt?”
“I’m sorry”
“I don’t care about the mirror Whumpee. Did you hurt yourself?” There was a long pause. before Whumpee responded.
“I don’t know.” They breathed “There’s blood”
Caretaker’s heartrate leapt.
“I’m five minutes away. Just hang on and stay on the phone with me.”
Whumpee didn’t respond. Caretaker kept trying to talk to them but they feared Whumpee wasn’t hearing them anymore.
Caretaker finally pulled into the driveway and jumped out of their car, running into the house. Thankfully they found Whumpee exactly where they thought they would be.
They were sitting on the floor of the downstairs bathroom with their knees up to their chest and starring ahead of them without seeing. Their back was against the vanity and they were surrounded by shards of glass from the shattered mirror above them. In one hand, they were still holding their phone up to their ear even though Caretaker had hung up when they had come through the door. In the other they were holding one of the shards of broken mirror with such an iron grip their hand was shaking. Caretaker could see blood pooling between their fingers and there was a trail dripping down their wrist.
“Whumpee!” Caretaker ran into the bathroom and fell to their knees in front of Whumpee ignoring the bits of glass pushing into their knees through their pants. They grabbed both of Whumpee’s wrists and shook them until they dropped both the phone and the glass shard. With their hands now empty Caretaker examined Whumpee’s arms and wrists for injuries. Their fingers and knuckles were cut on their dominant hand from having punched the mirror, and there were deep cuts on their palm from where they had been gripping the shard of glass. But otherwise they were uninjured, and none of the injuries they had seemed to be intentional.
Caretaker breathed a shaky sigh of relief and looked up at Whumpee’s face. They were white as a sheet and Caretaker could see tear stains running down their cheeks. But they were surprised to find that Whumpee was looking back at them with at least some level of awareness that Caretaker was there.
“Caretaker?”
Caretaker reached forward and put their hands of Whumpee’s cheeks, wiping away the last of the tears.
“Yeah Whumpee I’m here now. How are you doing?”
“Red” Whumpee replied after a moment, and their eyes filled with tears again. Their face twisting to try to keep from crying.
“I can’t even look at myself” They sobbed. “Why did Whumper do that to me? What did I do to deserve it?”
“Oh, Honey” Caretaker knew Whumpee would scold them for the pet name later, but now they didn’t seem to notice. Caretaker pulled them into a hug and let Whumpee cry into their shoulder shaking and gripping at the back of their shirt with their non-bloody hand, as they stroked their hair and tried to hold back their own tears.
“You didn’t do anything to deserve this. Whumper is a monster, and they were going to hurt someone no matter what. But I’m so, so, sorry it was you. Never believe though that it was your fault. Please never believe that.”
They stayed there on the floor of the bathroom for a long time. Whumpee crying into Caretaker’s shoulder and Caretaker doing what they could to comfort them. It had been such a long road for both of them since Whumpee had been rescued from Whumper, and they had a long way to go before Whumpee would even start to be okay again. But Caretaker was proud of Whumpee for today. For calling. For asking for help before they were too far gone. They were glad the code system had worked.
They would tell Whumpee all this later. But now wasn’t the time. Now Whumpee just needed a shoulder to cry on.
#whump#whump drabble#whumpril2023#whumprilday1#caretaker x whumpee#whumpee x caretaker#panic attack#distress call#red alert#ptsd#calling for help#recovering whumpee
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All-Reliable: Fake Fainting Trick
Whumpril Day 1 (Limp), Day 5 (Reckless)
Now time to finish up Whumpril! :D
Whumpril Prompts List
The Legend of Orian Goldeneye Masterpost
TW: attempted mugging, collapse, head injury
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Killian nervously fiddled with his bag strap as he stole through the darkened streets of Iron Hollow. It was as confusing as Saint’s Shoal, and he couldn’t help but suspect he’d taken a wrong turn somewhere. The streets at night all looked the same. At least he’d gotten all the necessary supplies before getting lost.
He kept his head down as he passed a shadowy alley between two buildings.
“Hey you.”
Killian stiffened but kept walking, thinking of potential excuses for why he was out so late. He wished Jas was there.
“I’m talking to you!” Someone grabbed his shoulder and roughly turned him around.
“Look,” Killian stammered, “I’m not looking for trouble, but my sister’s sick—”
The person who’d grabbed him, a man a little older than Killian, barked a harsh laugh. “A likely story!” Light from the nearby streetlamp glinted off something in his other hand—a sharp, thin knife. “Everything in the bag, or I’ll cut it off your corpse.”
Two others emerged from the alley. Killian’s eyes darted between his three assailants. They all wore dark clothing—stained leather, maybe?—one had an unstrung bow strapped to his back, and all had swords. He recalled Diana saying something about how rare and expensive black leather was on this side of Atai, something about the dye?
“You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked softly, heart hammering in his ears.
The pair behind the man glanced at each other, but the man who’d grabbed Killian shrugged. “So what if we are? Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Killian forced a smirk. “You’re in a dreamshaper-controlled city, gentlemen.” With those hopefully ominous words, his knees buckled, and he went limp, collapsing to the ground. His head slammed into the hard stone, pain shooting through his skull, but he managed to keep himself from crying out.
Above, all three attackers cursed and fled, the sound of their retreat fading into the night. Killian slowly pushed himself to a sitting position and touched his hand to the side of his head. No blood, but a hard lump was already forming. He gritted his teeth, head throbbing with every heartbeat.
He could already hear Diana scolding him for doing something so reckless. But it worked, didn’t it? Jas would argue, it’s what I would do.
Leaning heavily against the nearest wall, Killian forced himself to his feet and began walking again. Hopefully, he wouldn’t encounter any actual dreamshapers before he found his way out of Iron Hollow. The last thing any of them needed was another kidnapping.
@fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @whumpril @pigeonwhumps
#my writing#whumpril2024#whumprilday1#limp#mugging#attempted mugging#fake whump#head injury#concussion#collapse#killian cory#writing snippet#whumprilday5#reckless
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more than you know
Stranger Things | Stevie & Mrs Harrington | Rating: T | Words: 531 | Angst, Transfeminine Steve Harrington, Stevie has bad parents, platonic stobin (background).
CW: deadnaming
Written for @whumpril day 3: sweat | Also here on AO3.
Stevie’s mother is furious, but few would have known it.
Hers is always a cold fury, one of looks and restrained emotions, carefully selected words aimed to slash. Now, only the way her hand shook gave her away… the hand which was holding a dress like it was something disgusting.
‘What were you thinking, Steven? This is…’
Her mother apparently can’t find the words as she stares at her, eyes rowing over her long hair and her make-up.
Hearing that name hurts, but she doesn’t dare correct her.
‘Do you have no shame?’ her mother asks, another stab into her gut, voice a hiss, low even when there’s no-one in the usually empty big house but the two of them, the perfect socialite wife and her failure of a child.
Shame is something Stevie is familiar with, intimately, from the shame of needing to learn how to dodge questions from well-meaning adults to stealing her mother’s clothes when her parents were away and hoping she could sneak them back in before they got back. Shame is looking at the women’s clothing section at the store and glancing lovingly at the make-up department, snatching lipsticks from the girls she kisses who call her King, whom she holds and makes feel good while she envies their softness and femininity.
Shame is a name that isn’t hers, should never have been hers, a body that doesn’t fit her true self, one that she’s had to make her image, however imperfect.
‘More than you know, but this…’ she gestures at herself, at her blouse and skirt, all the places she’s made herself soft and the places she hopes to, some day, ‘...I refuse to be ashamed of this any longer.’
She’s teetering on the brink of being disowned, she’s known that the moment Margaret Harrington had stepped in through the door and found her getting ready for a girls night with Robin. These are her last moments in this house.
She’s glad even if she’s terrified.
Her mother looks at her, really looks at her, the dress shaking in her grasp as she does so. Then she sniffs, dropping the offending garment onto the floor like it’s garbage. ‘Get rid of it. All of it. I won’t tell your father about this if you’re finished before he comes home in an hour. You wouldn’t like what he’d have to say.’
Then the woman who has never wanted to know who she truly is spins on her heel and strides out of her room without a hair out of place, impeccably dressed in her skirt suit.
Stevie does as she’s asked, carefully packing everything she can into her duffle and the rest into a box she’s had under her bed for months. She shakes as she walks down the stairs in the dress Margaret had thrown to the floor like trash, her head held high.
She doesn’t look back as Margaret Harrington calls after her, only once, sharp and in an undertone, after all, it’s not her name and the Harrington’s never really had a son, did they?
In her Beemer, she drives to Robin’s and she’s never been more terrified and free in her life.
#whumpril2024#whumprilday1#shame#stevie harrington#transfem stevie#stevie harrington's mother#angst#cw: deadnaming#(even if she's using a name that's pretty similar to her old one)
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Limp
Masterpost | Read on Ao3
With Elze'ith drifting off to sleep, Soren takes a moment to reflect.
For @whumpril Day 1: Limp
Contains: Intimate whump, aftermath of noncon, vampire whumper, captivity/gilded cage, manipulation, mind control, referenced drugging, referenced torture
~~~
There was something almost fascinating about the cadence of Elze’ith’s breathing. Such a simple, almost inconsequential thing, and yet each hitch or stutter or forced steadying said so much, often without meaning to. Now, as Elze’ith slipped into a forced but clearly yearned-for slumber, Soren listened as his breathing grew deep and even, seemingly utterly relaxed and at ease in Soren’s arms. With how still and limp he was, he could be mistaken as dead, if not for that ceaseless rhythm of breath, and the sluggish sound of his heartbeat audible only to Soren’s keen ears.
Of course, Soren would never let his prized consort slip away so easily. But he still found himself marvelling at how close Elze’ith could come to death without being close at all. How close Soren could bring Elze’ith to death while still being able to pull him right back.
Because Elze’ith was his. Body, mind, and soul. The recent days had only cemented that. His feeble attempts at resistance, Altair’s futile efforts to escape, had only given Soren an opportunity to further secure his hold on the two of them. And while Altair might not have realized it yet, he knew that Elze’ith did. That acceptance was apparent in the way Elze’ith clung to him, in the desperation that sang through their bond, in the swirl of emotion in his eyes. He was so beautiful this way, pliant and deferential and exactly as Soren had always known he could become.
He wondered, if he made a request of Elze’ith, if Elze’ith would be able to follow his direction right now. In the past he had done things that were seemingly impossible under Soren’s guiding hand, had pushed through the haze of drugs and the fatigue of magical overuse and the agony of debilitating injuries. It wasn’t inconceivable that now, even weighed down by weariness as Elze’ith was, that Soren could coax his body to do his bidding. There were wounds that still needed healing, after all, and trails of blood that needed to be cleaned. But pushing Elze’ith any further would be sending the wrong message, especially given the vulnerable emotional state he was in. So Soren tucked the idle thought away, knowing that he could always return to it later the next time Elze’ith was so utterly drained by their time together.
Instead he continued to trail his fingers through Elze’ith’s hair, smiling to himself at the way Elze’ith sighed subconsciously at the contact. Such a wonderful shift from the shy, reticent man Soren had welcomed into his castle all those months ago. He was so proud to see that Elze’ith accepted his touch, even welcomed it, without Soren even having to prompt him. All of Soren’s hard work was paying off beautifully, and he was truly in love with the results he was beginning to see.
There was so much Elze’ith was capable of, after all. Hidden within that man were endless wells of sheer potential— potential for magic, potential for agony, potential for love. It was what had drawn Soren to him in the first place. Drawing out that potential, shaping it like clay in a sculptor’s hands, was truly an endless source of joy for Soren.
He gathered Elze’ith a bit closer, taking care not to jostle any of the bruises or bite marks that still dotted his skin. Predictably, Elze’ith didn’t stir; his sleep was too deep, his exhaustion too great. That was fine. Later, Soren would carry his limp body to the bath, and clean up all the remnants of the recent excitement. For now, Soren was more than happy to let him sleep a while longer, curled up in his lap, the picture of peace and docility. After all, it was all Elze’ith seemed to want. And who was Soren to deny him that?
#Flicker in the Dark#silly writes#whump#whump writing#lord soren denholm oc#elze'ith sylrel oc#intimate whump#vampires#manipulation#mind control#captivity#Whumpril2024#WhumprilDay1#Limp
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Cal turned an ankle, but his best friend is there to help with the limp
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Whumpril 2024 - Day 1
Limp
@whumpril
Tw: gore, unconsciousness, unknown fate
His friend's body went limp in caretakers arm. "Fuck! No! Wake up, man."
The bloody right palm gently touched his pale cheek, the thumb brushed against his jaw. A slight nudge to his sunken head, but nothing happened.
Whumpees eyes stayed stubbornly unmoving after they fluttered close a moment ago.
Together they sat on the floor, whumpee was laying in his embrace. Blood was seaping through caretakers fingers as his left hand pressed against the side of whumpees rib cage. Gore covered his friends shirt and was soaking the big guys pants by now. Whumpees lifeforce brought a disturbing feeling of warm sickening stickiness under the demin on his left tight. This was all so wrong.
"Kiddo, open your damn eyes, please." His own face felt hot, as the body under his hands was already ghostly pale and almost deadly cool.
My masterlist
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Whumpril 2024 - Day 1 to 5
1 . Limp
The moonlit path stretched out before him, but Inigo couldn't concentrate. It was like he could feel his heart throbbing all over his left leg. The skirmish with this Draugr in this old tomb had injured him, the icy sword of the undead had left a nasty gash. Inigo grimaced with each step, each one slower than the last. He knew he needed to rest, treat his injury, but he didn't want to be a burden to his friends. Then he clenched his fangs, trying to minimize his pain and hide the importance of his limp. (98)
2 . Sweat
The sky was red and black. Auri trembled, muscles tense. Heat prickled her skin, raising goosebumps despite the suffocating heat. Flames devoured the forest around her, casting monstrous shadows onto the twisted trunks of ancient trees. Nightmare shadows, twisted like the cries of trees whose trunks burst in the heat. Auri closed her eyes, but both the panic and the heat had made her drenched in sweat. She was once again witness to this supreme crime among her people, the destruction of a forest. A drop of sweat tickled her jaw. She blinked and realized abruptly that the blaze was getting dangerously close. (103)
3 . Shame
At High Rock, marriage and lineage were of the utmost importance in Breton society. She had fled her marriage. Society shamed her for refusing to comply with this marital arrangement, as was customary. And even though if her suitor would have been her lover, she was repulsed by certain expressions of love, such as the one which allowed the conception of precious heirs. Society would have shamed her anyway. Remiel didn't want to live like this, so she fled to live her life elsewhere. Far from this shame that they wanted to impose on her. (96)
4 . Swaying
Lucien staggered backwards, dropping the damp diary. His vision blurred, knees weakened. Nausea swelled in his gut as he stared at the lifeless girl below the surface. Fighting the urge to vomit, he glanced again towards the calm waters of the pond. The naked corpse was still here. She looked younger than him. Mechanically, he began swaying at a regular rhythm, his wide eyes unable to tear himself away from the girl, drowned in this small pond, whose diary he had discovered and read shortly before. He continued like this, back and forth, deaf to the calls of his companions who were looking for him. (105)
5 . Reckless
Blood staining her golden armor, Nebarra stood tall from the battlefield. Smiling defiantly beneath his helmet, he parried blow after brutal blow, launching taunting barbs at his opponents. His battered body begged for some relief, but his mind roared louder. He knew he had to retreat, that it was reckless to continue the fight in his state. His allies urged him to be healed. But the alcohol had clouded his thoughts and extinguished the pain that coursed through his muscles. He felt stronger than these cheap bandits. Until suddenly, he found himself on his knees in the mud, at the mercy of a final blow. (105)
#whumpril2024#skyrim#skyrim custom followers#whumprilday1#whumprilday2#whumprilday3#whumprilday4#whumprilday5#inigo#auri#lucien flavius#remiel#nebarra#whump#limp#sweat#shame#swaying#reckless#wound#forest fire#drowned corpse
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Whumpril #1: Limp
The lights are out, no longer even the flickering emergency lighting in the corridors and passageways. With a crunch, the spin drive stops too, and Rosie has only a second to grab one of the wall bars before the artificial gravity also disappears. She immediately feels the sicky, travel sickness weightlessness and swallows against the instant nausea.
God, she's a crap spacer. How had she got involved in this?
At least loss of gravity takes the weight off her wounded leg. The sticky warmth of the blood is still there and now there's the uncomfortable sensation of an upwards trickle as the lack of gravity peels blood from her sodden flight suit.
At least life support is still on. At the moment. It must be, it isn't like she has a spacesuit aboard and she's still breathing. She's a barely tolerated hitch hiker, not a member of the crew. Nor will she be if they die here and now.
Hopefully it's nothing but mechanical failure and Gene will get it up and running, but truthfully...it's more likely boarders. Rival pirates; consortium tax boat; Domain forces.
They've got too many enemies and frankly not that many friends.
Rosie curls against the bar she's gripping onto, one knee pulled to her chest in a feotal position, the other dangling uselessly. She considers her assets: oxygen, an empty room, no visible aggressors (yet) and a life time in training in rebellion against the Domain (okay, yes, planetside, in gravity, but she must have some skills).
Unfortunately, to use any of them, she'll have to make her way to a more useful area of the Valjean than the empty corridor outside the crew quarters. Slowly, painfully, leg dragging even in this weightless environment, she limps to the end of the corridor. Weapons locker first. She's a fair shot, even if she is a useless spacer, and she can see it from her position. Or could if it wasn't space-dark. It's not guarded yet.
She drops a hand to the bad leg and bites back a curse in a sharp exhale of air as she touches the wound. Whatever had stopped them, that sudden jolt...it's damaged something deep inside. She doesn't think it can be a foreign body sticking into her. She has the rather unpleasant suspicion that it's her own bone sticking out of her.
Great. Broken bone, bleeding, pain bad enough to make her light headed without the weightlessness, and everyone on the Valjean that might be able to something about the situation likely captured or dead.
She swims forward a few more paces. Blaster first. Plan second.
The pain is overwhelming and she's swallowing her own metallic tears when her hand closes on the edge of the locker. Thankfully, it's just the regular passcode, this isn't restricted and she opens it easily.
Blaster, spare power pack.
Now what?
Well, the bridge and engineering are the places most likely to occupied by whatever forces have overwhelmed them. But if Rosie was one for making rational choices, she wouldn't be on this idiotic ship to begin with.
The choice is made for her as a cut off shout as the sound of metal on flesh comes from her relative above. Bridge then.
#my writing#whump#whump prompts#space opera OCs#injury#broken bones#whumpril2024#whump event#whumprilday1#limp
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The hundan lay limp on the sand, the sword sticking out of their chest glinting in the dying sunlight.
Sweat - or blood, he wasn't sure what it was anymore, maybe both - dripped into his eyes and Mal cursed, trying to wipe it away.
Ominous dark clouds rumbled in the distance, the smell of ozone and blood so thick in the air it felt like the captain couldn't breathe.
Half of his crew was missing and he'd just killed the only man who knew where they were in self-defense.
Did he though?
Shaking his head, Mal stumbled to the body and fell down beside it with a thud. The ground stained his pants red but he ignored it, slowly starting to root around for something, anything, that might lead him to his crew.
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Author's note-
Whoop, another writing challenge! I hope y'all will enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy writing them <3
Also, see past apology notes in the author's notes of Yeehawgust and Febuwhump. I ain't gonna repeat it every prompt challenge. Y'all know I can't write for shit
#firefly#serenity#browncoats#space western#browncoats unite#browncoat for life#firefly fanfiction#sci fi#malcolm reynolds#whump#whumpril2024#whumprilday1#limp#tw: death#tw: blood#tw: sword wound#tw: looting a body#mal reynolds
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“ red alert | distress call | panic attack ” @whumpril
kickin off the first day of whumpril with my favourite angst king :]
#whumpril#whumpril2023#whumprilday1#red alert#distress call#panic attack#my art#whump#obi wan#obi wan Kenobi#Star Wars
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Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Men's Football RPF
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Ciro Immobile/Luca Pellegrini
Characters: Ciro Immobile, Luca Pellegrini
Additional Tags: whumpster-dumpster's Whumpril 2024, Alternate Universe, Crimes & Criminals, Past Character Death, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Trauma, Serial Killers, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Slow Burn, Survivor Guilt
Series: Part 1 of Whumpril 2024
Summary:
Ciro nods. "It wasn't your fault, you know," he says softly. "You can't blame yourself for the actions of others, Luca. You were just doing your job. You couldn't have foreseen what was going to happen."
Luca winces, the words like a knife in his gut. He shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "Tell that to Sarri," he mumbles. "He's been suspended because of what happened."
Day 1 of Whumpril 2024: Limp
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Earned it
@whumpril Day 1: Limp
CW: angst.
Whumpee's limp had never gone away.
Everything else had healed. Wounds had closed. The broken bones had mended. Their face and rib cage had filled out to hide the once all-to-visible bones beneath them. They had color in their face again. And light in their eyes. Whumpee smiled and laughed once again. Whumpee loved to laugh. Even more so than they had before Whumper.
In all ways Whumpee had healed. But the limp stayed stubbornly persistent. They'd spent over a year in PT trying to work it out. And to be fair, it had helped. Whumpee no longer relied on crutches like they had in the beginning. And on good days you could almost not notice their lagging gait if you were just passing by. It had never really gone away though.
The doctors had said that it never would. The muscles and tendons were just too damaged. They would never regain full physical strength in their leg no matter how much they worked out or stretched. The limp was just another one of Whumpee's scars.
They could ignore it most of the time. Accept that it was just they way they lived now. But some days were harder than others. When they were tired at the end of the day or the very beginning of morning and felt like they had to drag their foot across the floor for lack of strength to lift it. Or when they were sitting on the steps Caretaker's porch, watching their friends play some pickup game Whumpee couldn't manage.
Whumpee would get frustrated and lonely at those times. Pitying themselves for not being able to be like they had been before. But they tried to keep their frustrations to themselves. The only person they could blame was Whumper. And they weren't around anymore for Whumpee to be able to yell at them. Caretaker and the others had already done so much to help Whumpee when things were really bad at the beginning. And they had never tried to other Whumpee or push them away. They didn't deserve to have Whumpee's frustrations taken out on them. So Whumpee held it in. Most of the time.
Once, when Whumpee had been visiting Caretaker's house, their leg gave out while they were on the stairs and they had face planted into the steps giving themselves a bloody nose. When Caretaker got to them, Whumpee was trying to staunch the bleeding with one hand while pounding the offending step with the other. Crying and cursing their leg for being useless.
"I may as well cut it off!" They sobbed to Caretaker as they tried to comfort them. "For all the use it is!"
"Oh, don't say that." Was all Caretaker answered, assuming their position of comforting their friend until the blood and tears were done.
"I'm sorry." Whumpee apologized when they were ready to speak again. "It's not as bad as it looks. I just tripped is all. I'm sorry I over reached."
"Oh Honey" Caretaker cooed "You didn't over react. It's okay to be angry some days. You get to have emotions. And you've earned your anger."
That became Whumpee's mantra after that day. Whenever they got frustrated, or their leg dragged or gave out. They would sit on their bed and repeat those words.
The limp won't go away. But I get to have emotions. And I've earned my anger.
#whump#whumblr#whumprilday1#whumpril2024#limp#whump drabble#sorry I didn't know how to end this#angst
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keep going
Stranger Things | Stevie & Party | Rating: G | Words: 100 | Angst, Self-sacrificing Steve Harrington, hurt steve harrington, drabble.
Written for @whumpril day 4: swaying | Also here on AO3.
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Steve was swaying on his feet, but he had to keep going, he just had to. The kids were relying on him, there was no-one else. He had to keep them safe.
The edges of his vision were darkening.
He didn’t have time for that, not now! He had a job to do, kids to keep safe!
They’re stumbling out from the sinkhole, him letting the kids go first. He can’t really see straight. He has to…
He swayed, heard raised childish voices, felt a hand on his arm.
Then the ground rose to meet him and the darkness came.
#whumpril2024#whumprilday1#swaying#stanger things#steve harrington#steve & the party#angst#hurt steve harrington
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Russell Crowe in the Beautiful Mind
Panic attack
#by uuuhshiny#Russell Crowe#beautiful mind#whumpril2023#whumpedit#whumprilday1#Distress Call#Panic Attack#uuuhshiny's gifs#power#RC gifs
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@whumpril
Chapters: 2/3 Words: 3,256
Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters: Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach, Geralt of Rivia, Angoulême
Additional Tags: whumpster-dumpster's Whumpril 2024, chaos-company's Angstpril 2024, Head Injury, Blood and Injury, Spoilers for The Tower of the Swallow, Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach Whump, Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach Has a Bad Time, swaying, Cry for help, Geralt's knee injury, Limping, Dizziness, Trust Issues, drained, panicked, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump
Summary: The fighting in Belhaven does not go well for Geralt and his companions. Cahir is injured and they have to flee. (The scene from The Tower of the Swallows chapter 6 told mostly from Cahir's POV, but also some Geralt POV.)
Inspired by Angstpril and Whumpril prompts.
#whumpril2024#whumprilday1#whumprilday6#limp#dizziness#angstpril2024#the witcher#fanfiction#day9#day22#day27#trust issues#drained#panicked#Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach#geralt of rivia#angoulême#cahir#the witcher novels#the tower of the swallow#the witcher books#the hansa#the hanza#cahir whump#geralt whump
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