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adrift-in-thyme · 7 months

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Whumptober Day 15: "I'm fine"

This one's for the anon who suggested some post-totk Wild hurt/comfort for day 15. I hope you enjoy!!

Read it on Ao3

- Wild & Time

- Summary: When Wild just barely manages to save Twilight, the wounds from his second adventure resurface

CW for blood and injury and a panic attack

Disclaimer: this fic has very minor spoilers for Tears of the Kingdom. Basically, if you've watched the trailers, you already know about the stuff I talk about here. But just be aware if you want to go in completely spoiler-free!

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He’s fine.

That’s what Wild tells them. And himself. He repeats it like a mantra in the days following his return to the group of heroes he calls his brothers. It’s his reply to the endless queries about his welfare. His internal chant that keeps the demons at bay.

(Perhaps, if he says it enough times it will feel true. Perhaps, it will make the fear disappear, dissipate the nightmares.

(Somewhere, deep within though, he knows it won’t. It never did before. Why would it now?)

But he tries anyway. What else can he do?

His brothers are worried about him. He can see it in their eyes, hear it in their voices. And it’s not fair. He didn’t return to have them shoulder this burden.

They already carry enough.

So, he maintains the lie and convinces himself it’s the truth. Even when the dreams come, forcing him to relive the memories he runs from during the day. Even when his arm aches with the phantom pain of the ravenous evil that once ran through his veins.

And he keeps it together well enough. At least, he thinks he does. He shows off his new abilities, lets everyone inspect his arm, laughs and jokes and tells the most exciting tales from his adventure.

Sometimes, it’s easy. After all, not every part of his adventure was bad. Most of it, he realizes as he shares more and more with his brothers, was not.

But those bits that were…it is all too easy to allow them to override all the rest.

Especially when memories decide to repeat themselves.

Especially today. Because Twilight is falling.

They had been fighting a group of monsters. Hefty beings, though nothing they couldn’t handle. And with all the heroes there it should have been easy.

But nothing is ever easy. Wild should know that by now.

He sees it happen at a slothful pace, as though time itself has slowed. But he doesn’t remember using stasis. He doesn’t even have the ability anymore.

Though he desperately wishes that he did. Because, then, maybe, he could bring it all to a halt the moment Twilight stumbles. Maybe then he would have time to reach him.

It all falls down in a matter of seconds, racing into each other at breakneck speed despite their immeasurable slowness. One moment the rancher is beside him, trading quips and fighting back a moblin (just like before and somehow that had made breathing a bit easier). And the next the very ground crumbles beneath their feet.

Wild doesn’t know what causes it — spell, wayward bomb, it doesn’t matter. All he can see now are Twilight’s eyes going wide as he loses his balance and plummets. All he can hear now is his own scream as he lunges forward to grab him.

“Twilight!”

He lands flat on his stomach, ignoring the way the fall rattles his ribcage. Desperately, he reaches out. The turquoise of his new arm glows.

He can see it — crimson wrapping around it in wispy strings of clawing, greedy evil. He can see her terrified face as she reaches for his grasping hand.

Twilight stretches out his arm. His fingertips brush Wild’s. The feeling in his arm is not as good as it would be in a natural one….one that belonged to him, that his body didn’t sometimes decide to violently reject. But he can feel it anyway — the familiar touch of his brother’s hand, calloused and strong.

He grabs for him. And misses.

Twilight falls.

“No.” Tears prick at his eyes, burning as they spill down his cheeks. “No!”

Not again. Please, not again.

His world narrows, his breath grows short. But he fights to push past the panic, he fights not to fail again.

“Wild!” Wind appears beside him, eyes wide with worry. “What happened? Where’s Twilight?”

Wild doesn’t have time to respond (what would he say anyway to explain this?). Again, he reaches out, choking on his sorrow as he does so. Magic is at his fingertips, its golden glow warm and welcome. He directs it at the spot where the rancher once was.

His surroundings go grayish and dull. A ticking sound fills the air, like a clock rewinding. Wild draws in a breath and steels himself. This has to work, it has to. If it doesn’t…

He won’t entertain that thought. He won’t imagine the rancher lying broken and bleeding on a bed of jagged rock.

Suddenly, there is the sound of wind rushing past his ears and a cry of a monster. Something falls with a thump beside him. The smell of blood drifts to Wild’s nose.

“Nice catch, sailor!” Hyrule cries.

Wild grits his teeth, struggling to keep himself from turning to look. He can’t afford to break his concentration, even for a second. Any moment now, Twilight will appear. Any moment now, he will have to grab him before the spell can break, plunging him back down.

He makes a mental note to thank Wind when this is all over.

Twilight’s head appears just over the edge of the pit, then his shoulders. Wild doesn’t allow himself to take in the blood running down his forehead and splotched on his tunic, or the unnatural bend of his arm, or the pallor of his skin, the way he hangs limply like a puppet on a string. He digs the toes of his boots into the ground and leans forward.

The ticking stops. The spell breaks. Twilight slumps into his hands.

The weight of him nearly drags them both back down. Eyes blown wide with panic, Wild struggles against the inescapable pull of gravity. But then someone grasps his legs and begins to pull him back toward the safety of firm earth.

“Don’t worry, champion,” comes Time’s voice, sharp with worry and firm with resolve. “We’ve got you.”

Still, Wild doesn’t allow himself to breathe until they are firmly on land. And even when they are, he scrambles up, pulling Twilight further from the edge.

The others rush forward to help him. They’re talking, he thinks, reassuring him that Twilight is alright. But he can’t hear them over the rushing in his ears.

His shaking hands loosen their grip on Twilight, falling limp beside him into the damp grass. His breath comes in raspy, trembling gasps. The air he manages to drag in burns his constricted throat.

He can see him even through the blurriness clouding his vision. The rancher is still unconscious, still deathly pale. Blood dribbles in a slow stream from his mouth and nose, bruising has begun to purple his face and neck.

Wild clenches his hands into fists.

I was too late. I missed…again.

“…fine. He’s fine, champion.”

Wild raises his eyes to Sky’s face, blinking away tears he hadn’t registered coming. The knight offers him a small smile.

“He’s just a little banged up. That’s all. And our captain’s going to take good care of him.”

“That’s right,” Hyrule pipes up, as he hands Warriors a potion. “He’s got some broken bones, but he’s endured far worse. Some potion and a bit of rest and he’ll be alright.”

He should respond in some way. A thank you or a nod, at the very least. But the atmosphere itself seems to be pressing down on him. And it’s all Wild can do to stand.

He manages anyway, rising on trembling legs.

“Wild?” Wind looks up at him. “Are you okay?”

Wild shakes his head. Tears continue to fall unbidden down his cheeks. He can’t breathe.

Casting one, last look at the fallen rancher, he turns and runs. ------------------

He ends up in the depths of the nearby woods, back against a tree, curled in on himself with his head resting upon his knees. Wild isn’t certain how long he sits there, trying to banish the horrific images that flash before his eyes, trying to breathe. But somewhere along the way, he hears footsteps.

He doesn’t bother to raise his head. The steps are familiar, after all. No monster could walk so lightly, treading in rhythm with the crunch of fallen leaves and the sound of the wind rustling the branches. No one else sounds as though they are a part of the forest. Almost like the blupees do and the Lord of the Mountain. Sometimes, he gets the strangest feeling that if he looks away for too long, their leader will vanish amongst the shadows of the furs.

Time lowers himself down beside him, now, just close enough that their shoulders brush. Wild fights not to lean into him. He hadn’t realized how cold he had become.

“Twilight is awake.”

Wild lifts his head slightly, blinking. The tears have stopped now but his eyes feel like someone rubbed dirt in them.

“Is…is he okay?”

“He will need to rest for a few days. But yes, he is alright.” A large hand comes to rest on his shoulder. “You rescued him just in time, champion. Who knows how far down he would have fallen without your quick thinking.”

Quick thinking.

Wild can’t hold back a bitter chuckle. It hardly feels as though it was quick thinking. Panicked, more like it, a desperateness born of the need to not lose another loved one. Even temporarily.

Time is quiet for a long moment. Wild slumps further into his protective, little ball, battling between wanting to run again and wanting to sob into Time’s arms. In the end, he can bring himself to do neither.

“A second adventure is never easy,” the older hero says, at last, when Wild is certain he is going to either explode or dissolve into the dirt beneath their feet. “Honestly, I cannot imagine going on as many as our veteran has. Two was more than enough for me.”

With a jolt of surprise, Wild raises his head. He turns to frown at Time, who merely smiles.

“I didn’t want to talk about it either, you know. I kept what had happened on my journey a secret for many years. Telling anyone seemed more difficult than anything else I had endured. Sometimes, even impossible.”

Wild swallows, hard. He is almost certain the tears are returning.

“I couldn’t let it happen again,” he admits, quietly, voice hoarse. “I couldn’t lose him like I lost her. Like…like I lost everyone.”

Time nods. “But you didn’t. Twilight is safe, cub. Allow yourself to believe that to be true.”

Wild drags in a shaky breath. The words he hardly dares to speak rise in his throat, screaming for release.

“And what…what happens if one day that’s no longer true? What happens if I fail him next time?”

What happens if I fail all of you? What if I fail her again?

Time sighs. “I wish I had the answer to that. Believe me, it would do much to put my own mind at rest. All I can tell you, is to live for today. Allow yourself this victory. Allow it to strengthen you to face further challenges. That is all that you can do.”

Wild ducks his head, biting his lip to keep the tears at bay. But they come out anyway, spilling down his cheeks in cascading rivulets. He chokes on a mouthful of salt water.

Time shifts. The warmth of his hand leaves, only to be replaced by the warmth of his arms, enveloping Wild as he holds him close. Wild collapses into him, heedless of the tears and snot he is undoubtedly sullying Time’s tunic with. Sobbing into the Hero of Time’s chest is not something he ever imagined that he would do. Now that the great ball of agony has begun to unwind, however, he cannot drag it back into submission.

He has kept it for this long, held it inside until it almost became a part of him. He has fought it down through months of chasing fleeting clues across Hyrule, fighting beasts that haunt his nightmares. Smothered it at night when sleep refused to come. It refuses to be held down any longer.

It rushes out like a wave of water upon the collapse of a dam. And Time holds him while it does.

When, at last, the sobs do subside, the tightness in his chest and stomach is still there, as it always has been. But it has lessened somewhat and for that, at least he is grateful. Slowly, he pushes himself up, swiping at his eyes and nose, self-consciously.

“S-sorry about your tu-tunic,” he hiccups, eyeing Time sheepishly.

The hero gives him a small, kind smile. In that moment, it is hard to believe that this is the same hero who can make grown men tremble and take down the largest of monsters without breaking a sweat.

“Don’t concern yourself with it. It can be washed out.” He rises, dusting himself off, then holds out a hand. “Now, are you ready to go? I believe Twilight wants to see you.”

Wild takes a deep breath. His gaze flits to his arm, softly glowing where it rests on his lap.

All I can tell you, is to live for today. Allow yourself this victory. Allow it to strengthen you to face further challenges.

Slowly, he folds his fingers into a fist. The glow strengthens in answer to his own resolve.

“Yeah.” He takes Time’s hand and stands. “I’m ready.”

#whumptober 2023 #no.15 #“i'm fine”#linkeduniverse #fic #panic attack tw #blood tw #injury tw #trin writes #lu wild #lu twilight #lu time #hurt/comfort #angst #whump #sorry the resolution is a bit rushed #i couldn't figure out how to draw it out further lol #well time to go work on today's fic now

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ice-cap-k · 7 months

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Silent Squeak

Cross-posted to AO3 here: Silent Squeak

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“Do you want the veggie rolls or the dumplings?”

“Dumplings, please. Whatever recipe you use tastes amazing.”

“Thanks. Just give me a moment to plate it.”

The smell of warm dumplings made Owen’s mouth water. He was starving and knew that the meal about to be served would be worth every second of the wait. Everyone knew Scott was the best cook in the attic. Between the farm fresh veggies he had managed to grow in his makeshift indoor garden to the hours spent perfecting his craft over a hot pot, the field rat had refined his talent to a peak. And that worked out perfectly since few other rats were so interested in the culinary craft.

Owen could manage a few of the simpler things. His own veggie rolls and grilled steak turned out edible, at least. Maybe a little chewy, but that just added to the experience. They were rats. Chewing through stuff was in their nature.

“Here you are.” A plate clatters onto the tabletop in front of Owen. The smell of the broth hits his sensitive nose, and the spoon is in his hand in an instant. The first bite almost burns his tongue, but he doesn’t care. The warm food tastes like the most amazing thing he’s had for a while.

“You know,” Scott says with a smirk as he slides into the booth on the opposite side of the table. “You could always try to make something with the food you steal from the pantry instead of eating it plain.”

Owen pulls the spoon out of his mouth and uses it to point at the farm rat. “That’s what I have you for,” he says around a mouthful of dumpling. “Why would I cook when I could just ask you to make something for me?”

He rolled his eyes. “And here I thought you visit so often because you enjoy my charming personality.”

“It can be for that too. You’re a really good friend, Scott. Who said it can’t be both?”

“Oh. Well, I really appreciate the visits.” A little smile appeared between Scott’s whiskers. His eyes dropped to his own bowl of dumplings and the spoon in his hand. “I don’t mind cooking, though. If it wasn’t so cold outside, I could have brought the food to set up a picnic on your balcony.”

“You wouldn’t have had to bring food,” Owen said, shoveling another spoonful into his mouth.

Scott’s eyebrows shot up. “How else would I make something for us to eat?”

Owen had to think about that for a moment. “Well, we could try cooking at my place.”

“But you don’t even have a kitchen in your clock tower,” Scott said incredulously, gesturing to their surroundings with a free hand.

Scott’s home was admittedly one of the most complete in the attic. Many rats had plenty of rooms and accommodations. Some had even built up storefronts and businesses outside of their personal nests. Owen’s clock, though, was hollowed out with a mindset more focused on convenience and his own personal interests. There was a small mudroom at the base of the clock, and if you climbed the gears he could reach his tinkering workshop and bedroom behind the clock face. A simple hallway led to an elaborate balcony, but that had admittedly been built by Scott. And that was it. There wasn’t much else that could fit inside.

The grandfather clock didn’t have things like kitchens, cozy living room seating spaces, or teal and orange booths set in the wall where he could eat with company.

Although Martyn’s Bar did have most of that. He supposed that was always an option.

“Fair enough. By the way, how are you feeling?”

Scott’s ears twitched to match the confusion that crossed his face. One ear pressed flat against the back of his head, the other swiveled forward to catch Owen’s words. “What do you mean,” he said, blinking blankly.

“That janitor really got you the other day. We were all scared for you. And when the Mom of the house let you go you were shaking. So I thought I’d ask you how you’re feeling now that things have died down a little.”

The spoon dropped from Scott’s claws. The sudden clatter made Owen flinch. “Sorry,” Scott said hurriedly, scooping up the spoon and shoving another bite of food into his mouth. He looked away as he chewed. One claw shot out, indicating to Owen to wait while Scott finished.

By the way, Scott’s face grew a few shades paler, though, the tinker rat figured that this was more of an attempt to stall. “Scott?”

“Sorry…” Scott took a moment to swallow. The food must have gone down heavy because Owen could hear the gulp from across the table. “Of course I’m fine. You don’t have to worry. It’s not like I’m the only one who’s ever gotten tossed in a cage around here.”

“No, but I’d imagine your experience was a bit rougher than average…” “I said I’m fine.” Owen was surprised by the forcefulness in Scott’s tone. The farm rat was usually so quiet and polite. It wasn’t exactly impolite, but he had made it clear that he wasn’t interested in discussing further. “Although, speaking of which,” Scott continued with some of the curiosity and lightness returning to his voice as he changed the subject. “Any news on the recovery of that crow the daughter was taking care of? Were they able to put a splint on their wing?”

“Oh yeah,” Owen perked right up as memories of today's event started replaying in his head. “They managed to bandage up Kara’s wing a little better. It seems our attempt at first aid was a little lackluster. The wrapping had started coming loose.”

Scott nodded along, fully absorbed in this new conversation. “Well, none of us are medical professionals. How long will it take to heal?”

“I’m not sure, but-”

They carried on like this for the rest of the meal, discussing the day’s events and plans for the Christmas celebration. There was a lot of planning and things to look forward to, and Owen completely forgot about Scott’s dismissive response when he brought up the incident with the cage.

________________________________________

“Under the table! Under the table! Quick! QUICK!!”

“He’s right behind us!!”

Owen dove nose first under the coffee table left out in the entryway. Claws scrabbled at the tiled floor as he pressed himself beneath the bracers connecting its legs where the butler wouldn’t be able to reach him. As soon as he was out of harm's way, he turned to check if Scott had made it as well.

“Owen!”

His best friend was reaching out to him. His eyes were round with terror as he leaped for safety. “SCOTT!”

A large hand swooped down and the other rat disappeared behind massive fingers. Scott let out a strangled squeak as the human’s grip tightened around him. His muffled voice faded as the hand carried him back up into the air.

“Drat. He got Scott.” Owen watched from his hiding place as the butler made for the lounge. There would be a rat trap in the back corner, nestled up against the fireplace. He’d been caught and tossed in that trap countless times. Once the coast was clear, he could run in and let Scott out. He would just have to keep an eye out for the cats.

Moments passed, and eventually, the disgruntled butler left the lounge empty-handed. Owen couldn’t speak human, but he could tell by the tone of their voice that the butler wasn’t happy. But he was leaving and that was what was most important. That meant the clock was ticking on the opportunity to get Scott out of there.

He pulled himself out from under the table and tore across the linoleum. Please don’t let there be cats. No cats. No cats. No cats.

Luck was on his side today. No big hairballs were prowling around the lounge. It was a straight shot to the fireplace.

“I got you, Scott.” With one great leap, Owen launched himself up onto the platform the cage was resting on. He shoved down the lever on the latch. The metal door fell open with a clank. “Let’s go before he comes back.”

He turned to jump back off the countertop but stopped when he didn’t hear pawsteps behind him. When he looked back, Scott was still inside the cage. He was looking down at the bars on the floor, one hand gripping a wire making up the wall.

“Scott?”

Owen padded back, but Scott still didn’t make any move to leave. “Everything alright,” he asked, ducking into the cage with his friend.

“I’m fine.” Scott’s voice was small. He usually was pretty soft-spoken, but this was even quieter than normal for the farm rat. Now that Owen was closer, he could see Scott’s shaking shoulders and hands.

“Are you sure…”

“I’m sure.” With a deep breath, Scott squared his shoulders. The shaking stopped as a big, empty smile stretched across his face. “Thank you for saving me.” With that, he scampered out of the cage, leaving Owen to follow after.

Owen blinked with surprise. “Hey, wait for me,” he shouted before jumping down after his friend.

Scott looked over his shoulder as he ran on all fours. There’s mischief glinting in his eye. The smile on his face began to look a little more real. “Last one to the attic is a rotten cat!” he calls.

“Hey!” Owen pushes past his concern for his friend. Scott wouldn’t want to talk about it anyway. He was okay now. Everyone got spooked when the humans caught them. That was all it had been. It had to be.

Owen was generally bigger than Scott. Faster than him too. Scott may have a head start on him, but there was no way he was losing this race. “I’m going to make you eat those words!”

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“Hey, have you noticed anything off about Scott lately?”

Owen put the glass in his hand down on the bar counter. Only half of his drink had been emptied, but Martyn was already pouring him another glass. He nodded his thanks, wrapping his fingers around the base of the cup without really lifting it off the bar. “What do you mean?”

It was just the two of them at the moment, but it was getting late and the other rats around the attic would start filtering into the bar sooner or later. That was fine by Owen, it had been a long day. He could sit back and enjoy the warm atmosphere and excessive amount of Christmas decorations Martyn had set up around the business. It was one of the more elaborate builds in the attic and a good place to kill time now that Owen was no longer banned.

“Maybe ‘lately' is the wrong word,” Martyn said, crossing both arms and leaning against the counter from the server’s side. “It’s been going on for a bit, but hasn’t he seemed a bit more twitchy whenever the other humans are passing by?”

Owen smirked and rolled his eyes. “I would hope everyone is twitchy around them. Not keeping your guard up will get you captured. Or dead.”

Martyn shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, you’re not wrong. It just seems to me, like, whenever one of us gets into trouble, Scott immediately is there. He’s always the first to jump when one of us gets caught. He’s almost always the one to flick the switch. And when he gets caught… Well, I’ve never had a panic attack myself before but it sure does make me think of one. I can get freaking out when you’re in one of those cages, but it’s like Scott just… I don’t know. Shuts down?”

Despite himself, Owen couldn’t keep his ears from drooping at Martyn’s words. The other rat’s eyes followed the small movement. How could he not? They were a dead giveaway to Owen’s own thoughts on the matter. “I see. So you’ve noticed it too.”

It shouldn’t surprise the tinker rat that the others would have caught on as well.

“He doesn’t want to talk about it.” Owen stared down at his own reflection in his glass. It looked back at him with a somber expression. “It’s been happening ever since the basement blew up and the janitor caught him. I’ve tried asking him if he’s okay, but he just says that he’s fine. I don’t think he’s actually fine.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

Owen shot a glare at the other rat. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. It’s you two who are all buddy buddy all the time. Surely you’ve got something in mind.”

“I don’t,” Owen admitted. “Not really. I guess I’ll just keep being there for him if he needs me. And if he wants to talk about it, then I’ll listen.”

Martyn smiles. He uncrosses his arms and pushes off the bar as he reaches for another glass. “Good plan. And if you want there’s always the option to get him drunk and see if he’ll talk then, huh?”

“Martyn,” Owen hissed in disdain. “Don’t talk like that. That would never work.”

“Well, you might want to tell him that,” the older rat says, wiggling his eyebrows mischievously. Owen was about to ask him what he meant by that when Martyn’s attention shifted from him to something behind him. “Hey Scott,” he called, holding up the glass. “What can I do you for?”

“Hey Martyn,” Scott’s voice drifted from the direction of the doorway. “Don’t mind me. I’m just here to see if Owen wants to grab a bite to eat.”

Owen’s breath catches in his throat as he whirls around to see his best friend stepping into the room. “Hi…” He breathes, feeling somewhat panicked. How much had Scott heard? By the serene smile on the farm rat’s face, he hoped the answer was ‘nothing.’ Scott didn’t look like he had heard anything from that conversation. “Hi,” he replied back. “Are you hungry?” “Huh? Oh, yeah. Actually. I’m famished. I just… let me just finish-”

“You know,” Martyn cut in. “I did just pour one out for Owen, and I have plenty of leftover steak I swiped from the pantry earlier today. How about I throw some on a plate for the two of you? On the house.”

Owen shot the other rat a pointed glare, but Martyn was outright ignoring him. The older rat kept his eyes glued on Scott, who perked up at the idea. “That’s really nice of you. Thank you, Martyn. Here, let me pull up a seat.”

“Sure, and let me pour you one of your usuals to go with it.”

“Aww, thanks!”

Owen tried to stare down Martyn. Signal him with his ears or eyes. Something to get the other rat’s attention and get him to stop whatever he was getting at. Martyn noticed him. He smiled at Owen but continued to ignore him as he slipped into the back room to get the steak.

“This is nice,” Scott said, slipping into the stool beside Owen. “It’s been a while since we’ve eaten out or got drinks together. Hope you don’t have any plans after this, because if he starts playing Christmas tunes over the speaker we are doing karaoke.”

“Sure,” Owen said, nervously taking a drink from his glass. He was going to need it. “Let’s see where the night takes us.”

#whumptober 2023 #prompt no. 15 #“i'm fine”#rats smp #creative writing #ptsd #cages and capture #scott smajor #owengejuicetv #martyn inthelittlewood #avoiding issues

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viva-la-whump · 6 months

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Saw this on pinterest and thought some people here might like it ;)

#me #mine #whump #“I'm fine”#whump trope #I'm fine #side wound #blood #bleeding #I need this for all my whumpees

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catsandgoodbooks · 7 months

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No. 15: “I don’t need you to help me I can handle things myself.”

Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | “I’m fine.”

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Punz glanced at Dream’s hands, bandaged and shaky as they paged through the book Punz had given him. They hadn’t said anything about it before, despite seeing glances of makeshift bandages and trembling fingers, despite noticing the way he limped each time they met up, the way he flinched every time they touched him (announced or not), the empty look in his eyes he sometimes had when he thought they weren’t watching. He didn’t want to talk about whatever happened in the prison, and Punz respected that. They didn’t want to pry.

But it had been weeks since the jailbreak, and Dream was still bandaged with blood seeping through the white fabric. Something was up. Dream wasn’t taking care of himself. Punz could only turn a blind eye to so much.

“I could help with your hands if you wanted,” Punz offered, forcing their voice to strict neutrality. They couldn’t imply that he needed their help – they’d get nowhere if they tried that – but they still couldn’t be argumentative, demanding, aggressive, couldn’t raise their voice. That never ended well.

Dream’s fingers stilled and he stiffened, even though he didn’t look back at Punz. “You don’t need to. They don’t hurt.”

“I don’t know about you, man, but from where I’m standing it looks like they’re bleeding,” Punz said. Careful, careful. They were treading a fine line here. They had to be careful. They couldn’t let that be an accusation.

That time, Dream did move to face Punz, closing the book and setting it down on the table beside him. They were in one of his old bases dotted around the server, a halfway point between Punz’s tower and Pandora’s Vault. Punz never felt comfortable in the prison anyways, and Dream never came to their tower unless it was an actual emergency. This was the best option for both of them. “They’re fine, Punz. I’m fine.” Punz doubted that, but they’d never tell him that. They could guess where that ended, and it wasn’t well. “These are just old. They don’t hurt. None of it hurts anymore. The potions took care of that,” he contested, staring Punz straight in the eyes and daring them to challenge his words.

Punz didn’t look away. “Potions can’t fix everything, Dream.” They couldn’t, and using them too often built up the body’s tolerance for them and risked addiction. Punz suspected that Dream had crossed that fine line long ago, but they didn’t blame him for it. It hadn’t been his choice, if they had to guess. “Traditional medicine’s still good for some stuff, you know.”

Dream scoffed. “Not really.” His mouth twisted into a contemptuous smile. “Look, Punz, do yourself a favor and stop worrying about me. I’m fine. I don’t need you to help me. I can handle things myself.”

There was no winning now. There never was once Dream made it into about competence, about independence, about not needing help and why would you ever think that he would? Punz looked away. “If you say so, man. Just, if you ever need help, just know that you can come to me.”

“Of course.” Dream didn’t look like he meant it.

#whumptober2023 #no.15 #lyric #makeshift bandages #suppressed suffering #“i'm fine”#dsmp #fic #c!dream #c!punz #staged duo #drunz #my writing

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astaldis · 5 months

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Chapter 3 - Flight

@hurtcember @whumpcember

Fandom: The Witcher (TV)

After having been ambushed by humans, Gallatin is seriously wounded. Lucky for him, not all humans hate elves. Of course, it's not all that easy for Cahir to fulfil his dangerous mission in the Nazairean highlands either. - This is the story of how Gallatin and Cahir meet for the first time. (Set shortly after Emhyr defeated the Usurper in 1260.)

Whumpees: Gallatin, Cahir

Caretakers: Cahir, Gallatin

Chapters: 3/4 Words: 7,191

Read on Ao3:

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spritehouse · 7 months

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Prompts: Infection (no. 13), "Just hold on" (no. 14), & "I'm fine" (no. 15) | @whumptober-archive

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Criminal Minds (US TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Luke Alvez/Spencer Reid Characters: Spencer Reid, Luke Alvez (Criminal Minds), Penelope Garcia Additional Tags: Hurt Spencer Reid, Sick Character, Infection, Worried Luke Alvez, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Past Drug Addiction, Drug Withdrawal Series: Part 8 of ShortMC's Whumptober 2023 Summary:

“I’ll be okay.” “I have to be; lives are at stake,” hangs between them, unspoken. “Spence…” “I’ll stay at the precinct—no interviews, crime scenes, takedowns—drink water and eat, and after his case is over, and only then, I will take time off and let you fuss over me as much as you want.” Luke sighs, knowing this is as good as he’ll get. “You have to tell me if you start feeling worse and if Prentiss decides to take you off this case, I’m siding with her. Okay?” Spencer nods, closing his eyes as he takes his boyfriend’s hand, pressing it against his burning skin with a soft sigh. “Thank you, Cariño. I love you.”

- or, spencer is coming down with a fever, and luke has every right to be worried

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arianaofimladris · 7 months

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Whumptober 2023 entry

Fandom: Batman (Nolan's trilogy), Batman Begins specifically

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth

Summary: Batman saves Gotham. Bruce Wayne gets drunk and burns down his house. Alfred is there to pick up the pieces. A missing scene for Barman Begins (after the final fight)

- no. 5 - debris

- no. 13 - "I don't feel so good"

- no. 15 - "I'm fine"

- no. 20 - found family

“Come now, Master Bruce. You’re a bit too old for falling asleep in the car.”

“In a minute.” Bruce flashed him a tired smile, then accepted his outstretched hand. He stumbled out and immediately leaned back against the car, clutching at his right side. He didn’t remember it hurting this much before.

“A bit too big for me to carry you too, if I may say so.”

#whumptober2023 #no.5 #no.13 #no.15 #no20 #debris #I don't feel so good #“I'm fine”#found family #Batman #Batman Begins #fic #Bruce Wayne #Alfred Pennyworth #Bruce Wayne whump

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whumperofworlds · 7 months

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Whumptober Day 15: Rest

Now on AO3!

Fandom: Final Fantasy I

A/N: I love writing these two a lot, so this one was also fun to write! Also, I... am having trouble writing more of this, but hopefully I'll get to it before the month is up!

I only own Drusus, Keme, and Veles. Everything else belongs to Square Enix.

TAGS: @gala1981

CONTENT: slight strong language, sickness, a lot of fluff stuff

ENJOY!

_____

@whumptober Day 15: Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | "I'm fine."

Drusus wasn't sure what happened. When he woke up this morning, he felt a throbbing headache hit him. Not only that, but his throat was sore—no matter how much water he drank, he couldn't get rid of the soreness his throat had. And finally, his nose was stuffed up, making breathing difficult.

Keme knew what was up the moment they left for work. He had asked his husband if he was alright—Drusus didn't even give him a "good luck" kiss before they left, as he usually did.

"I'm fine," Drusus had said, and yet, he still looked out of it. Was he upset with Keme? No. That wasn't it. Drusus looked… exhausted, judging by the bags under his eyes and the fact that he coughed constantly.

Keme's thoughts were on Drusus all day, and after he returned from a mission, he decided to confront his husband. Clearly, Drusus was hiding something from him, which was out of character for the Monk.

He arrived at the door to Drusus' office, before knocking it. A few moments had passed, to the point Keme even thought that Drusus had already left. However, he heard his beloved's voice from behind the door, "Who is it?"

Keme noted that his voice was hoarse and raspy. He raised a brow, before he answered, "It's me. Can I come in, love?"

Another pause, before he heard coughing from behind the door.

"Come in." Drusus answered.

Keme opened the door and entered, only to pause when he noticed Drusus' trash can was full of tissues. Sitting at his desk was Drusus, scribbling down another signature on a piece of paper. He glanced up, smiling slightly. Keme's heart would have skipped a beat at that sight if he hadn't noticed how strained it was.

"Hey, babe," Keme said, glancing at the trash can for a moment. Usually, Drusus cleaned his trash can before he began to work. Why was it full? Unless…

"You're sick," Keme pointed out, and he couldn't help but glare at his husband. This wasn't the first time this had happened, and he was frankly tired of how stubborn Drusus was.

"What?" Drusus asked, and Keme could see the panic in his eyes. "N-no I'm not."

"Then explain this," Keme said, gesturing at the tissue-filled trash can. Drusus glanced at it for a moment, before he shook his head.

"Allergy season," Drusus lied, covering his mouth with his fist when he coughed.

"...It's not even spring," Keme sighed, shaking his head. "Babe, we've discussed this before. When you're sick, you should be resting, not working!"

"I'm fine, dear," Drusus insisted, glancing back at his paperwork. "These papers are due today, and I have to—cough—work on them."

Of freaking course.

"Drusus." Keme said, his voice stern.

That caught Drusus' attention, as he glanced at his husband, eyes wide. "Did you just—" Drusus tried to say.

"Damn right I did," Keme interrupted, his arms across his chest, giving Drusus a disapproving look. "Look, you need to go home. Veles can take care of the paperwork and all. You're too sick."

"Babe, please," Drusus insisted, "Veles has enough on his plate, and—"

He didn't realize that his hand was close to the small ink bottle, until he accidentally knocked it over. Ink spilled all over the paperwork, soaking them in black.

"Fuck," Drusus cursed, gritting his teeth in frustration. Could this get any worse?

Keme's glare grew intense, before he turned to the door. "That's it," Keme said, "I'm getting Veles."

"Love, no—" Drusus protested, but it was already too late; Keme left the office. Drusus sighed, running a hand through his hair. Why does Keme get so stubborn about him?

_____

Veles insisted to Drusus that he'd handle the paperwork, and despite Drusus' protests, he eventually went home with Keme. Keme had apparently told Veles that he was taking the day off too—he needed to care for Drusus so he could recover quickly.

Once they were home and Drusus went to bed, Keme held a hand on Drusus' forehead, before pulling back with a hiss.

"Sheesh," Keme commented, "you're burning up."

"...I know," Drusus sighed, sinking in the covers until his head was the only thing exposed.

Keme glared at Drusus once more, and Drusus wanted to sink further in his covers sheepishly.

"How long have you been sick?" Keme asked.

"Since… this morning," Drusus admitted.

Keme's glare softened a bit then, sighing. "At least you didn't wait till days later like last time."

"...'m sorry." Drusus muttered.

"Just…" Keme said, "don't do it again, please? Whenever you're like this, I worry about you. It hurts me that you hide something like that from me. I get that you work hard, but rest whenever you feel under the weather."

Drusus gave it a thought for a second. Perhaps Keme was right—if their roles were reversed, Drusus would worry to death over Keme if he had fallen ill, and would insist Keme to rest. The mere idea of making Keme worry over him hurt him. His husband shouldn't be worried about him like that.

"...All right, I'm sorry," Drusus apologized.

"Pinky promise?" Keme asked, his pinky raised.

Drusus merely smiled despite his sickness, before he reached out and had his pinky intertwined with Keme's. He could keep promises easily.

"Pinky promise."

#whumptober2023 #no.15 #“i'm fine”#final fantasy 1 #fic #strong language #sickness #drusus #keme #my whump stories

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susiequaz12 · 7 months

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Whumptober 15

No. 15: “I don't need you to help me I can handle things myself.”

Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | “I’m fine.”

Day 15! A continuation of Marlowe and Solomon on their adventures. Takes place right after Day 13. CW: Nonbinary whumpee, immortal whumpee, vampire caretaker? The roles get weird between them. Sickness, noncon touching, blood, self-inflicted injury.

- - -

Solomon had slept throughout the entire night. Definitely odd behavior from a vampire, but Lo was grateful to get the rest alongside them. Lo’s wounds had closed up fully, now just in the painful process of regrowth. They sat against the edge of the tent as the sun peeked over the horizon. Lo checked the vampire’s forehead, brushing back the sweat-soaked hair that covered his features.

His skin had turned from that pale shade of pink back to it’s normal, ghostly-white. But a fever still raged inside of him. Lo’s heart panged in their chest as the vampire mumbled, moaning and thrashing about in a fretful sleep.

When Solomon finally awoke Lo was waiting for him.

“How are you feeling-” they whispered.

Solomon paused for a second, taking in their situation. He was lying on a blanket on the dirt ground, the cloak placed over them tossed to the side, wearing nothing but their black trousers.

“Where’s my shirt-” he grumbled.

Lo silently handed it to him as Sol pulled his undershirt over his chest.

“Are you feeling okay?” They pressed.

“I’m fine.” He mumbled. He staggered about the tent, trying to make place of all his belongings that he had scattered about in his sickened stupor. He had thrown all of his clothes off last night in a desperate attempt to cool down, the tent was clearly in a state of disarray.

“You don’t look fine, Sol. You’ve cooled off but you still have a bit of a fever, you should-”

“I said I’m fine!” He turned to Lo, his fangs snarling over the curve of his lip. Sol swayed slightly on his feet as he collected the rest of his clothing, pulling his socks over his feet. “We need to keep moving.”

“Not in this condition.” Lo muttered. “You shouldn’t go back out in the sun. There’s less tree cover now the closer we get to the river. We should wait until nightfall and then we can continue travel.”

Solomon approached Lo with long, heavy steps, towering over the human where they sat in the corner of the tent.

“Since when did you order me around?” He snarled.

Lo stood up, wobbling on their one good leg. They were still barely reaching the top of the vampire’s shoulders, but were better able to look him in the eye.

“Since I saved your ass from dying of heat stroke. I don’t want you getting more sick than you already are. Then you still are.” Lo spat.

Sweat dripped down the vampire’s forehead, evident of his continuous fever as he snarled, stepping closer to the small human, gripping a hand across the back of their neck. He let out a snarl, glaring into Lo’s eyes as a drop of spit dribbled from his fangs. He was taken aback briefly as he looked into the human’s eyes. Their weak, fragile form- still healing from all of their past injuries.

He could snap their neck in an instant- he’d done it before.

But as he stared at Lo, thinking of a come back, of something to say- he realized one thing.

Marlowe wasn’t scared of him anymore.

In fact, there was even a small smile forming on the human’s lips. A bit of a smirk playing over their face as their eyes scanned up and then back down the length of the vampire's body.

“I know what’s going on-” Lo purred, pulling themselves slightly away from the vampire. “-you’re hangry.”

Solomon took a step back- “I’m- no! I’m not- I don’t get ‘hangry.’”

Marlowe chuckled. “Oh yes you do. You don’t think I’ve known you long enough to know when you get hangry? It’s obvious.”

The vampire shook his head, closing his eyes as the world spun around him. He opened them back up to see Marlowe tilting their head to their side, the veins in their neck bulging out of their skin- taunting- teasing the vampire to just take a bite-

“No, I- I said I’m fine.” Solomon released their grip on the human, pushing them away as they stumbled backwards, back down to the dirt floor of the tent. “I don’t need it, and you’re- you’re still healing.” His eyes dropped down to the human's frail body. "Look at you- you've lost an arm and a leg, literally." Solomon spat. "You're in no condition to be fed from."

Marlowe glanced down at their injuries, one of their hands hadn't fully grown back yet, their ankle just freshly injured from where Sol had rescued them from that trap.

"I guess that means neither of us are fit to travel then." Lo retorted.

Solomon let out a growl beneath their breath as he retreated to the corner of the tent, beginning to pull their boots onto their feet, still determined to continue their journey.

Even though his head pounded and the light gleaming through the canvas gave him a pounding headache. Even though he felt faint- and his muscles shook at the thought of carrying the human another several miles-

And then Lo was on top of him.

It caught him off guard as the human pinned him down in the corner of the tent, straddling his waist, pinning both of his arms between their legs.

Lo had their only hand propped up against the vampire’s shoulder to steady themselves, and in between their teeth was Solomon’s knife- the same one he had used to cut off Lo’s ankle-

“What are you doing-” Solomon growled- eyes scanning over the knife, over the scrawny human on top of him- back up to the mischievous glint in their eyes.

They grabbed the knife in their hand, leaning back for balance as they slashed the blade across the crook of their elbow, tearing into the veins and muscles, the blood pouring out almost instantly. Lo tossed the knife backwards behind them as they grabbed the vampire by the back of his hair, thrusting his head forward until it was cradled in their arm, lips pressed against the open wound.

Solomon kept their mouth shut with a groan, a movement of defiance even as the scent of the fresh blood wafted into their nose. It smelled so good- he was so hungry-

A whisper of breath tickled against the vampire’s ear as the human commanded a single word.

“Drink.”

And the need overtook him.

Solomon let his lips part, opening his mouth wider to lock around the fresh wound, and his fangs sunk into the human’s flesh, his tongue lapping up every taste and every drop that he could.

Marlowe kept Sol’s face pressed tight up against their arm, making sure he couldn’t pull away as he took in starving gulps of their blood.

The human felt their fingers carding through the vampire’s hair as he drank- they felt the way his chest pressed against theirs- heaving with the breaths and gulps he took in- the way their legs straddled his waist, keeping him pinned down on the ground as Lo force fed him their own blood.

A flutter grew in the pit of Lo’s stomach as the vampire’s breath grew hot on their arm. They soon began to feel faint, their grip weakening on the back of his neck, their head lolling backwards as their muscles went limp.

Solomon finished his feeding, pulling away from the human and instantly feeling the strength return back to his body. The effects of the sickness were quickly wearing off with the revitalizing energy of the human’s blood.

Marlowe had gone limp, sagging fully onto the vampire’s chest as he pulled away from their arm.

Solomon cradled the back of their head, laying them gently on the blanket on the ground. He hadn’t drained them, but he had taken a lot of blood- Marlowe would need a few hours to recuperate.

He licked the last of the drops off of his bloodstained lips, his eyes scanning across the human’s body- the curve of their hips- the nape of their neck- the hair that had fallen gently over their face.

Solomon reached out a nervous hand and brushed the hair back from their forehead. He leaned over, placing his lips against their temple before whispering softly against their ear.

“Thank you, Marlowe.”��

- - -

Tag List: @imagination1reality0 @thecyrulik @whumpsday @termsnconditions-apply @spectral-whumpy-writer @raddyscoops @whumptober-archive

#whumptober2023 #no.15 #surpressed suffering #“I'm fine”#whump writing #ocs #nonbinary whumpee #immortal whumpee #vampire caretaker #blood #force fed #sickness #self inflicted injury #marlowe the immortal

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glitter-and-metal · 7 months

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Fulfilling the @whumptober prompt "I'm fine." from No. 15

Fandoms - Star Trek: Enterprise and Desmond's (TV)

Rating - Teen And Up Audiences

Tony, Malcolm's brother, has been on Enterprise for two months when an attack on the ship leaves him seriously injured. Although he recovers physically, Malcolm can't help but notice that Tony is struggling so he does what he can to help his brother.

#whumptober2023 #no.15 #dialogue #line of dialogue #“I'm fine”#I'm fine #fandom #star trek enterprise #Desmond's #fic #ptsd #star trek: enterprise #star trek #ent #st:ent #fanfiction #desmonds #Desmond's (tv)#crossover

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loopielupie · 7 months

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Whumptober Day 9 - Alt prompt: Aftermath of Failure & Day 15: Suppressed Suffering/"I'm fine"

"Now you'll never be able to forget your failure."

Izuku jolts upright, grunting as pain alights in his chest and back. He slumps against a solid surface, hissing shallow breaths through gritted teeth as he tries to collect himself. Something cold prickles through his shirt and he presses shaking fingers against it. A wall.

A chilled breeze sends a shiver through him and his eyes flutter open to the sight of a filthy alley, dimly lit by the orange streetlights close by. His head lolls back with a soft thud as the sounds of the night susurrate around him; the rush of a passing car, the rustle of leaves.

I'm outside.

He let me go.

Tears well unbidden at the memory of cold brown eyes, the feeling of helplessness, the pain, and he has to pinch himself to stop the panic only just held back by the remaining threads of his composure.

You have to move, Izuku. You can't stay here.

Where is...here?

With clumsy fingers, he manages to retrieve his phone and he wilts in relief when he sees he's still in Mustafu. Testing his balance and mindful of the wounds he knows are hidden under his shirt, he pushes away from the rough surface of the bricks and gathers his legs under him. He stumbles, overcome with a fresh wave of searing pain that threatens to send him right back to his knees, but he grits his teeth and plants his feet. His heart rabbits in his chest, but the added adrenaline forces the pain away, dulling it just enough for him to stagger away from the support of the wall and out onto the open street.

It's late, or early? He's not certain, but he finds himself glad of the quiet, the lack of human life to see him struggling so much as he limps away from the alley, wincing with each movement. A voice, far too gruff to be his own screams in his mind, for him to go to the hospital, to get himself the help he knows he needs. But he can’t.

Can’t. Let anyone see me like this.

With a queasy swallow Izuku forces it away, back beneath the building haze of static, overpowered by the mantra that repeats over and over:

C'mon. Keep going. Keep Walking. Don't stop. You can't stop. C'mon-

A rattling sound brings him back to the present and he squints at the keys clutched in his trembling fist, thoughts slow and wooly as he tries to understand how he made it home. But a sharp sting in his back spurs him onwards and he manages to fumble the keys into the lock. He fights with the door, begging quietly, desperately through cracked lips until finally, mercifully, it swings open and he staggers through, only just catching himself on the wall. The sound of his phone vibrating intrudes through the static in his mind but he ignores it in favour of limping towards the bathroom.

In the harsh light, Izuku takes in his pale face, the sweat beading his brow and the tremor in his limbs, catching sight of a corner of angry skin just peeking out of the collar of his t-shirt.

Weak…

He recoils from the voice in his mind pressing his palm to the cold tile to ground himself. His eyes track down to the hem of his shirt, fingers playing with the edge as he worries his bottom lip between his teeth. Apprehension crawls cold along his spine, opening the pit in his stomach even wider. But he sets his jaw and gives the fabric an experimental tug.

He bites back a whine, feeling the cotton catch, stuck fast to the inflamed skin underneath.

Pathetic.

“Stop.” he begs, the plea echoing off the tiles with no one to hear or heed. Haggard breaths hiss through gritted teeth as he grips the hem of his shirt again.

I have to get on with it, I have patrol soon.

“I can’t let anyone else down.”

The curse is lost amongst the strangled shriek as he pulls, feeling tender skin ripped away as he forces the shirt over his head. The pain is immediate, white hot and all encompassing as his vision blurs, dizziness sending him boneless to the tiles with a sharp smack. The thunder of blood in his ears eclipses all sound as he collapses forward, digging blunt nails into his palms and pressing his heated forehead against the cold tile until one by one his senses return to him; the choked gasps of his breaths, the searing sting in his wounds, the off-white of his fixtures and the black of his discarded shirt. He can taste the copper tang of blood across his tongue and he gags, spitting a clot of bright red as a stark contrast to the tile.

Slowly, tentatively, he eases himself to unsteady feet, balance tenuous as he grips for the edge of the sink once again, fighting to keep himself upright as his eyes flick unbidden to the mirror.

And his whole world tilts again as he takes in the words seared into his skin, the still fresh burns weeping clear liquid. He can’t hold back the panic any more, the cold ceramic of the sink replaced with the frigid metal of cuffs, his small bathroom morphing into a dingy, faceless basement.

A man standing over him, smoke curling into the air from his fingers, spitting venom with every word and lighting up Izuku’s skin with every pass of his quirk.

“You’re weak,” he had cursed, branding the characters across Izuku’s left pectoral, slowly, relishing in his squirms and whimpers. “You prance and pretend, but you don’t give one thought to those you leave behind, those you fail to save. Like my mother when you worked with Endeavour, that disgusting excuse for a human being.”

He had ignored Izuku’s every word, every attempt to understand, to reason had been met with stony silence, searing pain, the acrid scent of burning flesh.

“I’m going to teach you what your hero name means. You seem so eager to live up to it.”

“Useless.” More characters burned into Izuku’s skin, big, visible, unforgettable.

“Pathetic.”

“Failure”

“False Hero.”

“Wooden doll”

Overlapping, brands on brands, all of his failings laid bare by scorching fingers until Izuku had finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

“Now you’ll never be able to forget your failure.”

A loud crack snaps him back into reality and when he comes to, the sides of the sink are spiderwebbed under his fingers, tiny shards of porcelain scattered on the floor. His chest heaves for ragged breaths, stinging with each one.

His phone rings again and he whines, scrambling to turn it off when he registers the number of missed calls and the name of the person calling. He answers it, continuing to ignore him would only be worse.

“H-hey, Kacchan. S-sorry about that. What’s up?”

He fights to keep his tone neutral but he knows the moment his voice hitches that it’s over and he feels the all too familiar slick of shame slide over his shaking shoulders in the ensuing heartbeat of silence.

“What happened?”

It’s quiet, gruff and demanding, but edged in something softer, like concern. And the shame threatens to suffocate him.

“I’m fine,” he protests, trying for an affronted tone but even he hears the desperation in it.

“Deku, stop.” Katsuki barks. “If you won’t tell me over the phone, I’m comin’ over to fuckin’ beat it out of you.”

Izuku licks cracked lips, tastes the salt of tears and wonders distantly when he’d started crying.

“I…need help.”

It comes out far more frail than he’d wanted and he barely hears Katsuki’s reply before the call cuts out, his phone finally out of battery. Izuku curls in on himself over his cracked sink, swaying dangerously as his vision starts to tunnel. He’s exhausted, hollowed out and he briefly considers letting himself give in to the lure of unconsciousness as it beckons him closer. But he can’t. So he reaches for the first aid kit to at least try and tend to everything before anyone else has to see him.

#whumptober2023 #no.9 #altprompt #no.2 #aftermath of failure #no.15 #suppressed suffering #“I'm fine”#bnha #fic #torture tw #burns tw #midoriya izuku #he is not having a very good day I'm afraid #I might continue this

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