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#Concern
anigst · 3 months
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The Yuzuki Family’s Four Sons - Ep 11
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loveisinthebat · 24 days
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Great Concern
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whumpster-dumpster · 7 months
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There's just something about the concern and care. Loved one(s) rushing to Whumpee's side, checking them over, asking if they're okay, and even if it turns out nothing's wrong, by doing so it's proof that they and their needs are a priority, it's just 🥺💕
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thepersonalquotes · 2 months
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I exist not to be loved and admired, but to love and act. It is not the duty of those around me to love me. Rather, it is my duty to be concerned about the world, about man.
Janusz Korczak
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limeskye · 6 months
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biggest-whump-fan · 1 year
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As usual, our baby is being a good whumpee 😊
But...
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Excuse me ? AN ITEM ???
dadd- I mean sir !! THIS IS ILLEGAL !!
anyway the way he carrying him like a potato bag is sending me-
The s classes I raised ch 64
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whumpypepsigal · 6 months
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Whumptober 2023 | No. 4
Alternative prompt: Examination
Star Trek: Strange New Worlds s01e03: “Any closer and that could have hit the carotid.”
@whumptober @whumptober-archive
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Oh gee what’s he gonna order?
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sasuga-whump · 1 year
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Sugar Apple Fairy Tale - episode one
A fairy, Shall, is chained up and tortured by his captor, who crushes his fairy wing to cause him pain
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asianboywhump · 10 months
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Doctor Romantic 3- Ep:10
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anigst · 7 months
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Detective Conan - Ep 118
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whumpygifs · 2 months
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First Visions
Pairings: Thornhill x Weems x Reader (platonic)
Word count: 1.9K
Summary: Reader has her first vision and ends up injured and in need of help.
TW: passing out, blood, injury, concussion, talks of vomiting
A/n Part 2 coming soon :)
You sighed softly to yourself. The day was half done at least. You were on your way to the tower on the far side of the school. Somewhere quiet to sit to eat lunch and sketch. Today there was Mac and cheese, and you were determined to make sure you weren’t subject to the torture of the quad on pasta day.
Stepping up the last step you walked into the small room. It had one big window, but it was pretty overcast today so you turned on the lamp you had brought up here a while ago when you first found your little secret spot. Well, it was secret as much as it was inaccessible. Well… it was inaccessible to anyone who didn’t have a lock pick and a good knowledge of how to use it. You however had a lock pick and knew how to use it. Hence why you had your own private office basically. You shared it with nobody.
Weems had actually found you there once. You had explained how the noise and chaos got too much sometimes and so she had given you a key and promised to leave the space to you on a set of conditions. You weren’t allowed to alter it in any way that can't be undone. It was your space to maintain, and no plates were to be left there. And lastly no misuse of the space or taking advantage of her kindness. In return she would look the other way and make sure you didn’t get into trouble.
Since that day you had made the place like home. You had a small lap desk you could use to draw. You had smuggled in a beanbag chair, a lamp, some art supplies, a charger, a few books and lastly a marvel poster of wanda and Natasha standing back-to-back with finger guns drawn. Oh, and your weighted blanket because you had two and one was in your dorm.
You plopped down onto your beanbag which gave a rustle of approval as the foam beads inside settled with a swishing noise like running water. Your let your head fall back and drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly through your mouth. Grabbing your headphones from your bag you put them on and put on some soothing music from your favourite playlist as of late.
You made quick work of the Mac and cheese. Cracking open your sketchbook, you wanted to get in a good session before you had to go to classes. You had a spare next, so you had penalty of time for once.
After what felt like nowhere near enough time at all, you packed up. Standing your popped almost every joint in your back, your bones and muscles relaxing. After shouldering your backpack, you turned to the lamp to switch it off. However, it seemed your body had other plans.
Your family was full of ravens and doves, a long bloodline of sears and witches. You knew it was only a matter of time before your first vision. So, it was only a half surprise when the feeling of static shot up your arm as it touched the wood of the desk. Your body went stiff, and your head snapped back.
The vision itself was rather short. You saw your botany teacher and principal weems in her office. The botanist seemed stressed while weems was trying to calm her down.
The vision shifted to another time and place, you saw yourself. You were laid on the chaise lounge in weems office out cold with a cut on your forehead. The two teachers standing over you as the door burst open. You didn’t see who entered before the vision ended. There it was nothing. Just endless black. Unconscious, you laid in the tower on the floor out cold.
The afternoon classes passed without you. Being sort of a loner meant nobody really seemed to notice your absence. Your friends were in different classes to you that afternoon, so nobody was any wiser to your predicament. After the afternoon and evening passed it was time for lights out and dorm checks.
Ms Thornhill had been having a good day. She went from dorm to dorm making sure all the girls in Ophelia Hall were in bed and ready for the night. Her day however became a little more different when she reached your dorm. Instead of two lumps in the two beds she counted just the one. Your roommate was already fast asleep, and you were nowhere in sight. Thornhill frowned. Making note to see weems once she had tucked in the Addams child for the night.
Which is how she ended up fretting in larissa office just as the headmistress thought she was done for the night.
“Marilyn I’m sure shes fine. Teenagers sneak out all the time. She will be punished but until she comes back there isn’t much we can do short of a search party and until she has been missing for at least five hours i am not prepared to inconvenience more of my staff.” Weems said softening as she took the botanists hand in hers. Thornhill released a shaky breath.
“Your right. She’s just being a teen, i guess. But it's not like her. Something isn’t feeling right about this. She wouldn’t do this. Shes a teen but shes not that teen.”
“If it will help you settle, we can walk around the school and check shes not simply hiding somewhere. I know just where she may be.” Weems said and stood offering her hand to Ms Thornhill who took it and was hauled to her feet.
The pair left and locked the principal's office and began their way to your tower of comfort. Weems frowned as she drew closer, seeing the light in the window. She had told you not to stay they night there. But she didn’t have any knowledge as to why you may be avoiding sleeping in your dorm.
Making her way up the stairs with Marilyn in tow she sighed. However, once she made it into the space, she was both pleasantly and surprised and horrified at what she found. Whilst she loved how you had decorated and maintained the space while conforming to all her rules, she was less pleased at the sight of you unconscious on the floor with dried blood running down your forehead and cheek.
She was quick to be by your side. She checked your pulse and sighed a breath of relief to find it not only strong but well-paced and steady. She felt the back of your head and around your face frowning as she found a bump on your forehead where the cut was. Thornhill was watching slack jawed. Snapping out of her stupor she crouched beside weems.
“We should get her to my office. She most likely has a concussion and will need monitoring tonight.” Weems said, gently scooping you into her arms and off the floor. She shifted you in her arms until your head was resting on her collarbone. The headmistresses' arms under your knees and back as you rested against her out cold.
The two teachers walked silently back to Larissa’s office. The principal mentally reciting what she would be doing once they got back to her office. You laid unmoving in her arms showing no signs of life. Marilyn unlocked the door and helped the principal situate you on the couch.
“Now what?” The botanist asked looking up at weems with a lost expression.
“Now i call the nurse and have Ms L/n here check out for a concussion.” Weems said and pulled out her phone thumbing through her contacts. She found the nurses and made the call.
Marilyn sat by your head and gently used a damp cloth larissa had brought her to clean up all the blood on your face, making the source clearer. You had a cut over your eyebrow that may need stitches or butterfly stitches at least. As she cleaned you up Marilyn periodically checked the rise of fall of your chest to remind herself you were still breathing with how still you were.
By the time the nurse came both teachers were relieved to see you moving about a little more, but your eyes stayed closed. Just as the knock sounded on the wooden doors your eyes fluttered open. Marilyn stroked your hair back as you hazily looked up at her with a cute but confused bleary-eyed expression.
“Hello honey. On time as per usual.” She chuckled as Weems came over with the nurse who set down her bag on the coffee table.
“Whats going on?” You asked still very tired. It was the nurse who responded first, beating both teachers to the punch.
“Ms Weems here said you may have passed out, hit your head in the process. How are you feeling sweetie.” She said coming over as you sat up. Ms Thornhill hovered nearby as if she was ready to catch you if you fell again. Weems watched on silently, the way she was biting her lip being the only tell she was anxious for you.
You brought a hand to your temple at the pounding in your skull. And sighed as you remembered.
“I had a vision. I must have passed out and hit my head after.” You said with a wince as the nurse began to probe the small cut on your face. She hummed and grabbed a small clear packet with some white strips inside.
“It's not too deep but we’ll stick on some butterfly stitches to help it heal. Don’t get them wet and come to the infirmary in two weeks to get them off.” She said and stuck two white stickers on your brow.
Once she was done Marilyn took the rubbish and deposited it in weems office bin.
“How’s the head?” The headmistress asked and you grimaced.
“Not great.” You muttered and all parties in the office looked concerned.
“Well, we’ll have a look and see what we are dealing with. But i suspect you will be staying with either one of these fine young ladies tonight to keep an eye on you. Heads are tricky.” The sweet old nurse said with a smile and Weems flushed slightly at being referred to as young.
The nurse held your chin in her hand and shone a light in each eye. She ran a few more tests before making a tutting noise with her tongue and began to pack her bag.
“As i suspected you have a mild concussion. You will defiantly need monitoring tonight and will need to probably stay with Ms Weems as she has a spare room.” She said and packed her things.
“What do I need to do?” The principle asked, not taking her eyes off you as the nurse tuned to address her.
“Wake her every few hours to make sure she’s not getting worse. If she is… call me straight away. She may be a bit more confused and even nauseous. So, I recommend a bin or a basin just in case. Give her two Panadol for the headache when the packaging says and keep her out of classes tomorrow just so she can rest. No phones. Dim lights and no strenuous activities while she recovers. No reading either or television.” She said and counted the things off on her fingers. Thornhill helpfully scribbled it all down on a notepad she found on Larissa’s desk.
Both teachers knew it was going to be an interesting night.
Part 2
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whumpster-dumpster · 1 year
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"You...? What...What are you doing here?"
"I know, I'm as surprised as you are. I guess old habits die hard. I hear you're in trouble and like a fool, I come running."
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sheafrotherdon · 9 months
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for @werebearbearbar
*
When Yusuf returns to their room with his tunic bloodied, Nicolo stills, prepared for the dozen or more eventualities that might spin out from such misfortune. He is relieved that Yusuf has come back—the truce between them is so fragile that he is often gripped by the worry that Yusuf might yet leave—but relief wars with frustration at how rash Yusuf can be, how often he finds himself at the wrong end of a blade. He looks Yusuf over from head to toe, rapidly assesses his healing, and then drags his gaze back to Yusuf’s face, to the expression of defeat he wears.
“What happened?” he asks quietly.
“We will not be traveling to Cairo today,” says Yusuf, as if this explains everything. He sits heavily on the edge of his rough bed.
Nicolo’s temper—the blistering, sharp-edge of his temper that he has yet to master—flares. This man. This infuriating man. His errand was so simple, and yet his arrogance, his stupidity, his readiness to fight—which of these maddening qualities ruined their plans? He swallows hard and opens his mouth that his feelings might pour out, tenses his hand into a fist and . . .
. . . pauses.
Yusuf is not readying to oppose him. His shoulders are not squared in anticipation of argument, nor his body poised to make his lingering disdain for Nicolo’s company known. His eyes are closed, his breathing steady in the way Nicolo has only observed when Yusuf prepares to pray. Something curls, sour, in Nicolo’s stomach, concern rushing from beneath his breastbone to skitter through his limbs, and he goes down to one knee, reaches out to touch Yusuf, then reconsiders.
“What did he do to you?” he asks instead.
Yusuf laughs sharply, mournfully, and looks up. “You would not understand.”
Nicolo watches him for a long moment. “You are not still hurt?”
Yusuf shakes his head. “He . . .” There is a visible struggle within him; his expression hardens, then softens again. “We could not agree on a price. He rescinded his offer and we argued.”
“His blood or yours?”
“Both.”
Nicolo stays still. “And?”
Yusuf looks away and blows out a breath. “He offered the curses of a schoolboy, the needling insults that a child might use.” He looks back at Nicolo. “He said I was my mother’s great shame, my father’s undoing, that my bloodline was cursed, that no son could dishonor his family more.”
Nicolo has witnessed by day and night Yusuf’s wrestling with their destiny. To be thrown into company with an invader whose body knits together like his own; to refuse to sink his blade into Nicolo’s gut despite the provocations of the heavens; the decision—the awful decision—to exile himself from his home lest he grieve his parents with the stain of whatever dark magic animates their souls. . .
“You are none of those things,” Nicolo says earnestly, voice no more than a whisper.
Yusuf makes a small choking sound, and presses his lips together firmly.
“He did not see a truth in you,” Nicolo continues. “A charlatan cannot.”
“And you do?” Yusuf asks bitterly.
Nicolo feels a strange and unfamiliar warmth creep up his neck. “I am further along that path than some wastrel merchant.”
Yusuf meets his gaze and for a long, terrible moment, neither of them speaks. “Perhaps,” Yusuf says nodding at last. “Perhaps you are.”
It is an unexpected thing to find that this matters, this agreement, the nearness of Yusuf’s body, the fact that Nicolo can find words enough to craft comfort when Yusuf is distressed. There is something here, some puzzle to unravel, but Nicolo cannot fathom the twists of his own mind on this score.  “You may take my clean shirt,” he says, and stands again, dusting off his knee.
Yusuf nods and stands too, pulls his dagger from his belt and lays it on the bed. “Thank you,” he says simply, and studies the blade.
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biggest-whump-fan · 1 year
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3 will be free EP 9
the soft collapse after feeling safe is just EVERYTHING !!
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