#No.28 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

celtic-crossbow · 6 months

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Whumptober 2023

No. 26 Working to exhaustion

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader (platonic/early relationship)

Setting: Prison era

Warnings: Symptoms of sleep deprivation

“This has been the worst day!” You drove your knife into yet another softened skull, instinctively angling your head to keep the dark blood and rotten brain matter from splashing across your face. The walkers were overwhelming the prison fences again. It was taking more and more manpower to get it under control each time.

Daryl scoffed from your left but said nothing, simply stabbing any corpse within reach. Carol was on your right, nodding with a quick “sure is” in between pushing back against the failing steel and thrusting her own knife forward to keep blood-and-death-stained teeth away from her hands.

It took hours to get the situation under control, nearly dusk before the fence workers hauled themselves inside with collective groans and shuffling feet. Dinner had come and gone but everyone was too tired for food at this point anyway.

“Who’s on watch tonight?” Rick queried while rotating his sore shoulder. Daryl didn’t respond verbally, just raised a loose fist in the air while trudging up the stairs to his perch. You came up beside the former sheriff, both of you watching the archer disappear at the top. “You’ll be with him?”

“You know it.” You answered with a nod. Rick patted your shoulder and you parted ways. When you reached the top of the steps, you had hoped to find Daryl resting on the mattress. No such luck. Well, he was on the mattress but sitting propped against the wall, checking over his crossbow. He was undoubtedly getting ready to head up to the tower early.

Daryl hadn’t slept in at least three days. You weren’t sure what was keeping him awake, but you’d hear him at night, moving around the prison like a restless spirit. Only you knew what to listen for when it came to the archer.

The way he tapped the railing rhythmically on his way to the upper level and back down again. His blunt nails made little noise but it was enough.

His steps were damn near silent save for the small scuff of his boot when he seemed to favor his left leg in the slightest way. Maybe an old injury. Maybe just the way he walked. You never asked and figured if he wanted you to know, he’d tell you.

You knew he had been pacing the prison over and over, keeping watch without anyone knowing. He always seemed to be in his perch when people began to shuffle out of their cells in the morning, none the wiser.

Except you.

He looked almost ready to keel over, at least to your eyes. Rick and Carol were worried too. The archer had stumbled at the fence today. Just…off balance, giving a walker the chance to grab his wrist. You had sliced through the decomposing flesh so quickly and closely that you were afraid you had actually cut him. But if it had scratched him…

“Hey, you.” You plopped down on his mattress hard enough to jostle him on the other side. You earned an irritated scoff but he kept to what he was doing. He really did look poorly. The circles around his eyes were so pronounced, how could anyone not notice them? Maybe they did and just didn’t find him approachable or feared what he would do if they snitched to Rick. He wasn’t the friendliest of chaps to those outside of his inner circle. Hell, sometimes he was even less friendly to those closest to him.

“Ya need somethin’?” He regarded you with a sidelong glare and a raised brow. He was usually never so coarse with you.

Sleep deprivation. You told yourself. “Just the pleasure of your ever-inviting, always hospitable company.” You smiled as he scowled. He really was a sourpuss tonight. Biting your lip, you watched him get his things together and quickly shuffled over on your knees to stop him when he made to stand. “So I was thinking,”

“Don’ hur’ yerself.”

“Ha Ha. Dixon’s got jokes.” You deadpanned. When he rotated his hand in the air to signal for you to continue, you wrinkled your nose at him and stuck out your tongue. “Anyway, I was thinking I’d take first watch tonight. You could come hang out up there with me, catch some z’s.” He already appeared prepared to balk at the idea. You sighed and sank back to sit on your heels. “You look tired, Daryl.”

“M’fine.” He muttered, a little too quickly.

“You’ve been on three runs in two days. You clear the fence. You hunt. You dug most of the graves for the ones who died of the flu. You fix shit when it’s not working. You take double watch shifts. You…wander around when you should be sleeping.”

His expression morphed right in front of your eyes: indifferent to angry in 0.025 seconds. “Ya keepin’ tabs on me?”

“No!” You shook your head adamantly. This was not going well. “I just…notice things.”

“Righ’.” He sneered. The archer grabbed his things and stood. “Good talk.” He snapped. You were up and laying a hand on his arm before he could take the first step toward the stairs.

“Daryl, we’re just—”

“We?”

Shit. “Yeah, we. Your friends, Daryl. We’re worried about you. Ever since—”

“Don’ go there, Y/N.” You watched his hackles rise: muscles tensing, shoulders leveling just below his ears. You had hit a nerve.

“So, this is about Merle.”

“Don’ say his name like ya gave a fuck ‘bout ‘im!”

He spun on you so quickly that you actually thought— even if only for a split second— that he was going to hit you. You reeled, the back of your foot hitting his mattress. Off balance, you fell onto it and stared up at his looming figure with wide eyes.

“Daryl.”

“I don’ need a babysitter!” He hissed. He swayed a little and blinked hard before turning away with a grunt. You watched him go, still shaken by his behavior. Daryl hadn’t acted that way toward you since the early days on the Greene farm. There was very little time you spent apart, aside from runs you weren’t designated to go on.

Since Merle died, the bowman had become distant, withdrawing from everyone. You tried to keep him grounded, but it only seemed to irritate him more.

Regardless, your worry outweighed the hurt.

You pushed yourself up and ran down the steps, sorting through things you could say or do to convince him that he needed to rest; that he didn’t need to do this alone. Aside from using the stock of his crossbow to knock him out so you could drag him to bed, you weren’t coming up with much.

No matter what, you weren’t leaving him in that tower alone tonight.

It was well past sundown, darkness covering the prison. You hadn’t brought a flashlight. Actually, you hadn’t brought anything. It shouldn’t have surprised you when you didn’t see Daryl until you almost tripped over him. He was just sitting on the ground near the tower, his knees up, arms laying across them. His head was down. A fresh wave of worry nearly knocked you over.

“Daryl?” You approached him slowly, almost like a wounded animal. When he looked up, you couldn’t make out much.

“M’fine.” His voice had lost all the heat it had fired at you only moments before.

“Okay.” You didn’t push, fearing it would only make him withdraw further. You sat down a few feet away. “Forgot my flashlight.” He only hummed but you could see as he lowered his head again.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, long enough for Glenn to come down from the tower. As he approached, he raised his flashlight. You couldn’t see his face but knew he had to be wondering why Daryl hadn’t already shown up early as he normally did. Your eyes flickered to the archer, his head still bowed, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings. He wasn’t asleep. The slow flexing of his fingers told you that much. His usually keen senses were dulled from exhaustion.

Your gaze shifted back, your head shaking slowly. You jerked your chin toward the prison, hoping Glenn got the message. He must have picked up on something because he nodded at you as he passed by, waiting until he was sure you could see him. A concerned look was thrown toward Daryl as the flashlight was passed off to you but then he pressed on toward the metal door.

It wasn’t until that door closed with a dull thud that Daryl flinched, raising his head and looking around somewhat wildly. You were quick to reach out but drew back your hand just before your fingertips could stroke across his bicep.

“Hey.” You whispered, directing the beam upward so as not to startle him further. He slowly turned his head toward your voice, his muted ocean eyes blinking slowly. Weariness was settling on him heavily. The way his eyes would close for a few seconds and then quickly nictate was a sure sign of microsleep. Daryl was dangerously close to collapse. You needed to get him inside. “Daryl?”

His eyebrows raised at the sound of his name but his gaze remained unfocused. You chewed on your lip, weighing your options.

“Daryl, let’s go inside, okay?”

The archer tilted his head, moving a little quicker. “Got watch.” He rasped. It almost sounded like a question.

“No, Maggie’s gonna take it.”

“Nah, s’my watch.” Daryl climbed to his feet in slow, tremulous movements, swaying backward like his crossbow was weighing him down. He staggered toward the wall, slapping his palm against it to keep his balance as he inched toward the tower.

“Daryl, you’re exhausted. Your body’s going to shut down if you don’t rest!” You followed at his side, hands hovering as if you could hold him up when he inevitably fell.

“M’fine, Y/N. Gotta be.”

“But why? Why do you have to be fine?”

“Stop.”

“Are you trying to die?” Your voices were crawling higher while Daryl’s steps were growing slower.

“Leave it, Y/N.” The archer stumbled to a halt, wiping at his eyes and blinking furiously to clear his blurred vision.

“What if you fall from the tower? Down the stairs? What if you pass out on the run tomorrow when there’s no one to keep the walkers off you? What if—”

“We was gonna rob the camp.”

Your back went straight, head shaking in perplexity. “What?”

“Merle n’ me. We was gonna rob ya’ll n’ take off. Leave ya with nothin’. Leave ya— the kids—” He couldn’t meet your eyes, his own betraying him with hot tears that he was fighting like hell to hold back.

Your expression softened, everything suddenly making sense. Nothing from the quarry mattered now. You were all together. He had stayed when he never meant to. “Daryl, you—”

“Never told Rick or…or Carol. Never told you. I gotta make it righ’, Y/N. Fer me n’ fer…fer Merle..” The look he gave you was desperate, pleading. You realized instantly that this was a glimpse into Daryl’s soul, laid bare in a moment of weakness he’d hate himself for later.

With tears in your eyes, you did the only thing that felt right in that moment. You closed the space between you and hugged him, slipping your hands beneath the crossbow to hold him tight. “You’ve made it right, Daryl. A thousand times over, you’ve made it right.”

The archer crumbled, the only things holding him upright were the wall at his back and you pressed against him.

“Merle was… he didn’…”

He slipped into silence after that, never bringing his arms up to hold onto you. You knew it was because he just didn’t have the energy.

“It’s okay.” You soothed, just listening to him breathe while you figured out what to do next. The door to the prison closed, the sound audible to you from around the corner. Maggie would appear any second, likely with Glenn in tow. “Daryl.” He didn’t respond. Had he passed out? “Daryl, can you walk with me?”

Relief washed over you when you felt some of his weight shift, followed by a resigned “yeah.” When you maneuvered away from him, you slid yourself underneath his arm, continuing to offer support. Just as you took the first step, the beam of Maggie’s flashlight danced from around the corner. You could only pray she would recognize the delicate situation and act accordingly.

When two silhouettes came into view, you held your breath. They were headed straight for you. Daryl was weak and pliant at the moment but should he realize someone other than you could see any vulnerability, it was unlikely he would remain that way.

You saw the very moment that Maggie— thankfully — grabbed hold of Glenn’s arm and steered him away in order to give you and Daryl a wide berth. You finally breathed again once you had rounded the corner and the archer remained quiet at your side.

He was clumsy on the steps leading to the door and again on the stairs to his perch, but you managed to keep both of you from face-planting. It was necessary to keep him standing for a while longer. If you allowed him to sit on the mattress, he could just fall over and you’d never be able to get his crossbow off his back.

“You with me?” You asked softly, ducking from under his arm to stand in front of him. He was doing well keeping himself on his feet even if he was swaying. When you cupped your hand over his chin and tapped your thumb against his cheek, his eyes focused and found yours. “I need to get this, okay?”

Hazy blue orbs followed you while you lifted the strap over his head, forced to stand on your tip-toes. It was a graceless but successful effort. Once the weapon and his bag were on the floor, you indicated for him to sit. He complied but not without a weak scowl.

“Don’ need ya ta baby me. I got it.” He said, with little to no bite.

“I’m not babying you, Daryl.” You crouched in front of him and brushed at his hair. It had grown just enough to be in his face. It was soft against your fingertips, if not a little greasy. You absently wondered how long he would let it get. With a smile, your attention returned to the task at hand. “I’m caring for you. There’s a difference.”

Your eyes locked, neither of you daring to look away. A moment that should have felt uncomfortable bordered on a version of intimate. Daryl looked away first, a light flush coloring his cheeks. Your tongue slid across your bottom lip, finding it suddenly dry.

“Let’s take off your boots.” You reached for the laces but he slid his foot out of your reach.

“Why?”

“Because you’re about to crash and burn for quite a while and you can at least do it comfortably.” It was reasonable, but so was his excuse not to.

“Need ta be ready. Anythin’ can happen.”

You mulled it over and nodded. “You’re right. How about this?” The archer was swaying where he sat now, fading fast with the temptation of a mattress and pillow just behind him. “You take off your boots and I’ll leave mine on.” The perplexed expression on his bone-weary face was almost comical.

“The hell you havin’ yer boots on gonna do ta help me all the way up here?”

“Because I’m not going anywhere.” You stated firmly, intense gaze daring him to argue with you. You expected he would and prepared yourself for it.

But he was just too damn tired.

“Alrigh’.”

You smiled at the top of his head while clumsy fingers worked at the laces, taking longer than necessary but still ending with his boots sitting against the wall.

“Great.” You weren’t about to tell him how to go to bed. The less he had to argue about, the better. You watched him crawl toward the pillow and all but collapse once he reached it, facedown with a smothered groan.

His blanket was like all the others, thin and itchy, but you could probably cover him with garbage bags at this point and he wouldn’t care. You pulled the material up to his shoulders and then climbed over him to sit on the other side with your back against the wall.

After a moment, he turned his head toward you. “Ya really gonna sit there the whole time?”

“Every minute.” You chuckled when he pulled a face. “I promise not to be a creep and stare at you.” His features relaxed. He even offered a shadow of a smile, eyelids appearing to grow too heavy to keep open.

“Ya… really don’… hafta stay.” He muttered between breaths, sound asleep just as the last word left his lips.

“I know. I want to.” I’ll always stay. For you.

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jasmines-library · 6 months

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Unbroken Valour

WHUMPTOBER DAY 28: Prompt ‘Sacrifice’

Fandom: Batfam

Summary: Ignoring his orders, Tim leaves to face the Joker after he escapes Arkham. Fearing for his safety, you chase after him and when he is put in a life threatening position, you don't think. You just do.

Warnings: Major character Death, description of wounds, impalement. It's just angsty. Im sorry.

Word count: 1.5k

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

Sometimes there is no rational reason for things happening. Sometimes things just happen whether we want them to or not. And sometimes there is no way to stop the inevitable from happening. Like there is no way to stop the sun rising in the east and setting in the west, there was no way from stopping you.

You ran. Fast. Feet pounding against the concrete. Your breath quickened, heart pounding against your ribcage. Tim was mere feet away from you now, scuffling with the Joker. He was good, but the Joker was bigger and better. Tim looked measly next to him. He wasn’t supposed to be out here alone.The Joker had just escaped from Arkham and was as gloriously out of his mind as ever. Tim was under strict orders and you had pleaded at him not to go, but your words fell on deaf ears. So, as soon as he left you were pulling on your suit and dashing through the streets of Gotham to reach him.

Tim ducked as the Joker swung an arc that missed his head by mere millimetres, jostling his hair. Tim slid, trying to knock the Joker’s feet from under him but missed as he stepped away. And then the haunting sound of his laughter filled the alleyway, echoing down the stone walls like a song. The villain, noticing your presence, turned to face you with a shit eating grin.

“Aw” He pouted, “Did the little birdy have to call his big sister for backup?”

Tims head snapped up as he stared you briefly in the eye. Brief, because he used the Joker’s moment of weakness to tackle him to the ground. As the pair scuffled on the ground, delivering blows and rough punches, you slid across the ground to grab Tim’s bo staff that had been discarded on the ground at some point during the struggle. When the vigilante finally managed to free himself, you tossed the staff toward him and reddied yourself, planting your feet firmly into the ground and squeezing your brass knuckles tightly to your palm by clenching your hand into a fist. They were cold against your clammy skin. You also patted the side of your suit to ensure your batarangs were secure within the folds of the fabric.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Tim whispered at you through his clenched jaw as the Joker weighed up his options.

The villain surged forwards trying to tackle Tim once again, but you raised your fist back and slammed it into the side of his cheek.

“Saving your life.” You grunted as he recoiled, bringing a calloused hand to his reddening cheek and frowning. It was an odd contrast to the lengthy scars that gave him his permanent smile.

“Ouch.” The joker straightened, making a beeline for you.

Dropping, you allowed your brother to make a move this time. It caught him off guard, causing him to waver unsteadily on his feet, but he didn’t fall to the ground as you hoped. Instead he reached into his pocket and brandished a slender, silver pistol.

You and Tim shared a look. Batman had two rules. Number one, No guns. Number two, No killing. The joker was about to break both and the pair of you were helpless to stop it. There was no hesitation in the villain's face as he pressed his finger to the trigger, arm jerking with the recoil of the gun. You flinched at the noise, anticipating a scream that never came. When you opened your eyes again. A single fraying flag hung from the tip of the barrel, printed across it in bold letters it read ‘Bang! You’re dead.’.

The Joker cackled maniacally to himself. “You should have seen your faces!”

Tim allowed his body to relax slightly, releasing the tension from his shoulders when he realised that there was no bullet lodged in either of you. You however were still on high alert. Your eyes widened as the realisation dawned on you.

“Red… Get behind me.”

The Joker pouted. "oh, Y/N? Why so serious?"

“What?” Confusion crinkled across his face as he scrunched his nose together.

“Red!”

You didn’t allow Tim any more time to move as the Joker pressed his finger down onto the trigger again, sending the flag harpooning towards him. You didn’t think, just jumped in front of him, knocking him to the side.

You gasped as it pierced through your suit, and then layers of your skin and muscle until the spear scraped across bone. You stared at the offending weapon, lodged deep within your chest gawping at the flag flapped in the breeze. Hands reaching up, you pressed your hand to the spear, feeling the warm blood pool around your fingers and soak into the front of your suit. You swayed on your feet.

As Tim recovered from your shove, reality hit him like a brick wall.

“What the hell did you do!?” He screamed at the suited man, chasing after him when he tried to flee, but alone and distracted, Tim stood no chance. He released a batarang which soared through the air, skimming his sleeve. Though it has found its target, the tear in his arm was nowhere near enough to stop the Joker as he vanished into the streets.

“Y/N…” Tim hushed under his breath as he raced towards you. You swayed before collapsing to your knees with a cry of excruciating pain. He caught you as he skidded to your side and lay you gently in his arms.

“Oh God…” He choked at the sight of the river of red flowing from your body. He didn’t know what to do. His hands shook.

You took one in yours, not caring for the fact that you would get them all covered in blood. Although you were older than Tim, your hand was considerably smaller than his and it fit snugly laced between his fingers. Somehow, amid the panic, Tim had managed to press the emergency button on his suit.

You smiled up at him sadly. His attention was on you and only you as you forced out a word through blood stained teeth. “Tim?”

“No.” He shook his head, not even bothering to try and hide the swell of emotions that bubbled to the surface of his voice. “No. You don’t get to do this to me. To us.”

His other hand pressed down firmly against the wound around the spear. He knew to keep it in, but he sight of it made him want to hurl, so instead he focused on your face and the way your eyebrows twitched each time there was a new jolt of pain spreading across chest.

“You can’t stop it, Tim.” You said sadly. “There is nothing that you can do…”

“No. I can- I” He pressed harder on the wound, fumbling over his words. A rouge tear slipped down his face. “You’re not dying. You’re not. Help is coming, just don't close your eyes, Okay? You keep them open, you hear?”

“Tim…” You reached out your other hand to cup his cheek and wipe away the fresh bout of tears.

“You promised me!” he cried. “You promised me that you would always be there for me!”

That cut deeper than the spear. Hearing your little brother say those words, you felt like someone had grabbed your heart and squeezed, ripping up your heartstrings as they went. It was a promise you had made all those years ago when he was brought in by Bruce, scared of being alone. That night you had wrapped him up closely and promised that you weren’t leaving him any time soon.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…” Concentrating was getting harder now as Tim swam before you. White dots began to form in your vision and you squeezed your little brother’s hand as hard as you could with what little of your depleting strength you had left, begging him to listen this time. “Take care of Damian for me and-” You took a wheezy breath “And be good for Dick and Jason.”

“Stop it. You don’t get to do this to me now y/n-”

“Tell the boys that I love them.” You whispered. Your body began to go numb but you gave him a gentle smile anyway. “And I love you, Tim Drake. Remember that.”

“Y/N?!”

Your gaze drifted from Tim as you felt your life slipping away.

“I’ll see you around, little brother.”

Your hand went slack in his and your body slumped against his chest. He cried your name, letting the tears flow freely as you took your last breath.

It was then that the wretched footsteps came rushing towards them, and Dick faltered at the sight of Tim covered in your blood as he clung to you tighter, pressing down harshly on the gaping hole. The spear still sat there, cruel and relentlessly. Dick stepped forwards, but it was no use. You were already gone.

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY 27 𖤐 DAY 29->

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adrift-in-thyme · 6 months

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Whumptober Day 28: “We might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now”

Read it on Ao3

- Time/Malon

- Summary: an injured Link shows up at Lon Lon Ranch

CW for blood and injury, mentions of death and broken bones

——————————

Malon’s hands never shake.

She can’t afford for them to. Sure, there are times when they are a bit unsteady from exhaustion or stress. Sure, there are things that scare her enough to make them trembling a possibility. But in her world, when things get hairy there is only action and no time for anything else.

Now is no different. At least, that’s what she keeps telling herself. Her hands don’t tremble, even as blood oozes over them. Her thoughts don’t falter. No tears fall.

But they want to. Oh, they want to. Because this time feels so very different. She has dealt with wounded animals before and even wounded people (she will never forget the time Ingo got kicked in the leg by Epona; satisfying though it may have been after the man’s behavior, setting that bone wasn’t exactly what she would call enjoyable). Never before, however, has she held the broken body of someone she cares for quite so much.

“You’re an idiot, fairy boy,” she breathes as she presses another cloth to the gash running across her friend’s middle.

“‘m your idiot, though,” he mumbles back. Even now there is characteristic mischief peeking out from behind the exhaustion and pain straining his tone.

Malon rolls her eyes.

Link has been bleeding all over her nice, clean floors and furniture for at least five minutes now. And that’s after he rode in, slumped over Epona’s back, one hand pressed to his stomach, the other clutching the horse’s reins like a lifeline.

He had come because he had nowhere else to go, he had said when she had stepped out onto the porch, eyes wide and heart in her throat. Because he could think of nowhere else that would be safe. Where he would be accepted without hesitation.

And as she had helped him down from the saddle, as he had practically collapsed onto her arms, he had apologized. Assured her he would take care of the wound himself, if only she would provide him a place to stay. As though he were a stranger in her home and not her best friend.

“Oh, shush,” she had scolded, ushering him into the house and lowering him onto the nearest chair. “I’ll take care of everything. You just sit down.”

And meekly, he had obeyed.

Now, he watches her with a slightly dazed look, as she tries to save his life.

For that is what she is doing, really. If she doesn’t get this wound to stop bleeding soon, he’ll bleed out.

As it is, she’s afraid he won’t last the night.

She worries her bottom lip and reaches behind her for the bandages lying on the table.

“Care to tell me how this happened?” The sharp bite of fear is in her tone despite her attempts to restrain it.

And really, who cares at this point, anyway? Her fairy boy is hurt, badly. She’s allowed to be a little worried.

Link drags in an unsteady breath.

“Monster fight.”

“The usual, then.” She shakes her head, sighing. “What I wanna know is what kinda monster fight was it that got you this hurt? I don’t think you’ve ever come around looking like this before.”

Link blinks, long and slow. The blue of his eyes seems unnaturally bright. Maybe because of the light, maybe because of pain. Malon thinks it’s likely both. But it almost reminds her of that little fairy that used to follow him around.

“Did you go into a dungeon or somethin’?”

Her gaze is back on her work, now, as she ties the bandages as tightly as possible. But when he speaks she can hear something almost like guilt in his voice.

“I—” A sharp hiss, fingers fisting in the fabric of his tunic. Malon murmurs an apology, trying to ignore the way the sound is like a dagger to her heart. “I was looking for…for something.”

“Lookin’ for something huh?”

She ties off the gauzy strips of fabric now practically holding the man together and takes a moment to survey her work.

That should hold.

Now, to get that bleeding firmly under control before he passes out…or worse. She grasps the bottle of potion that she had snatched from the cupboard earlier. It’s always handy, she has found, for times when the healing power of Lon Lon milk isn’t quite up to par. Times like now.

“That had better have been one important treasure. Did you get it at least?”

A small smile lifts Link’s lips. Somehow, it doesn’t make him look any more alive. He’s too pale, too ashen. There’s too much blood, coating his tunic, coating his hands and dribbling down from his mouth and nose.

But at least he has the strength to smile. Malon is willing to appreciate small miracles.

“Yeah, I got it.”

Something in the way he says it makes her slightly suspicious. But she hardly has time to figure out why. She wipes her hands on a nearby cloth, quickly so as not to take in just how stark the crimson looks against the white. Then, she uncorks the potion bottle and gets to her feet.

Link moves trembling, crimson drenched fingers toward the bottle. But she shakes her head.

“Uh-uh. You’re weak. Let me.”

With one careful hand, she tips his chin up and holds the bottle to his lips with the other. He swallows its contents obediently.

“That should help,” she says, once he’s finished. She turns away, setting the bottle back on the table. “At the very least you won’t be bleeding everywhere anymore.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs. He sounds a bit stronger already, she thinks. But maybe she’s just fooling herself to distract from the worry currently chewing a hole in her gut.

“Anytime, fairy boy.”

Malon inspects the wound one more time, reassuring herself that it’s no longer in danger of bleeding through the bandages. Thankfully, the potion already seems to be doing its job. The bandages remain a clean, cottony white.

“Looks like you’re out of the danger zone,” she says with a sigh of relief. “But you’re gonna need some rest and a new set of clothes.”

She looks over him once more, frowning. He raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

“I’m gonna have to tend to those other wounds of yours too. I swear, you look like you let the horses trample you.”

There is a distinct twinkle in his eye now. Already, he is beginning to look a little more like himself.

“Ah, it’s a…a good look then. A seasoned adventurer kind of look.”

Her lips quirk up even as she glares at him.

“No. It’s not a good look. I thought that much was implied. And it’s the kind that gives me a heart attack.”

He grins. But it quickly turns into a grimace as she sets about cleaning a cut along his neck. Gently, she tilts her head to get a better look at it.

“Stay still, now, and let me work.”

He mumbles a tired-sounding reply. His eyes are beginning to drift closed, despite his efforts to keep them open. And as she tackles each injury, he grows closer and closer toward losing his grip on consciousness completely. But the time he is cleaned up and she has managed to help him fumble into one of Talon’s spare tunics he is practically asleep.

“There,” she murmurs, setting aside the bowl of water and multiple cloths that she had used. They tinge the water pink. “Feelin a little better now?”

She knows that she is. The terror of earlier has abated somewhat, every steady breath, every beat of his heart convincing her that the danger is gone. At least, for now.

For now, her fairy boy is safe. For now, her hands don’t shake.

He hums, sleepily. His gaze is trained on the fireplace now, seemingly mesmerized by the flames dancing there. But when she drapes a blanket over him he drags his gaze up to meet hers.

“Hey, Mal.”

“Yeah?”

“I…I think I’m in love with you.” He frowns, thought obviously a difficult task at the moment. “No…know I am.”

Malon stops short, edges of the blanket still clutched in her suddenly shaky hands. A short bark of laughter escapes, a bit louder than she means it to be.

“I think you’ve lost a little bit too much blood.”

“‘m fine,” he retorts, scowling. “Malon ‘m serious. I love you.”

Shaking her head, she tucks the blanket up around his chin and presses a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Alright, fairy boy. It’s time for you to get some sleep. We can pick up this conversation in the morning.”

His scowl becomes decidedly pouty, though he has little choice but to comply. His eyes slip closed, breath beginning to even out.

By the time, Malon has cleaned up the gory mess (she never wants to see this much blood again, especially not from him), and put away her tools, he is long gone. She allows herself a moment to gaze at him, slumbering peacefully, face illuminated by the flickering flames. He is less pale now and with the blood gone he looks more human. Younger, more like himself.

Reaching out, she rubs her thumb on his cheek, a smile playing on her lips.

“I love you too, Link.”

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lost-shoe · 1 year

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Bucky Barnes/The Winter Soldier

Whumptober 2022

No. 28 HEADACHE

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losthavenmine · 6 months

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Whumptober 2023 Day 28 || Sacrifice

The Pope's Exorcist (2023)

#the pope's exorcist2023 #no.28 #sacrifice #the pope's exorcist #gifs #flashing gifs tw #suicide attempt tw #filmedit #fyeahmovies #horroredit #russell crowe #userfilm #cinemapix #cinematv #whumpedit #moviegifs #classichorrorblog

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bumblingdragon · 6 months

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Whumptober - day 28 - Sacrifice

kidnapped by a cult who attempted to offer him up as a vessel for their profane god

#whumptober2023 #no.28 #sacrifice #OC #art #blood #gore #o god i can finally be caught up #they cut his horns off and dipped them in gold. hence why his head is bleeding so badly #digital art #my ocs #morchar #my art

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cyberwhumper · 6 months

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"How the fuck did you do it?"

The metal hand hits Whiskey in the face again. He spits out blood.

"I've already told you, I don't have the faintest fucking idea what you're talking about."

Another hit. He struggles against the man holding his duct-taped hands firmly behind his back. Baxter pulls out a knife.

"How. did. you. escape? ANSWER ME!" The impatient man screams at his captive's face. The only response he gets is blood spat straight into his open mouth. He growls and hits him in the face again.

"I buried you, you prick. How the fuck did you get out?"

"Are you insane? Do you hear the fucking words coming out of your mouth right now?". The words are dripping with that familiar mocking tone of his.

He holds Whiskey in place by the mouth, preventing him from spitting but also rendering him unable to speak. The knife glides smoothly from his navel up, bunching up fabric with it as it drags upward until it slices through. He tries to recoil reflexively, and the sharp blade nicks his skin. Baxter can see the pain in his face and his attempts to bite down on the metal hand. He scoffs in amusement.

"Yeah, crack those baby teeth all you want, I ain't going anywhere. You better stop moving if you don't wanna get cut."

Aren't you a little escape artist? Then we'll see if you can do it twice.

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omgiamwish · 1 year

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Whumptober 2022 Day 28 - Punching the Wall

#whumptober2022 #no.28 #punching the wall #rottmnt #art #tmnt #tmnt 2018 #raphael #fan art #artists on tumblr

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how-much-for-a-whump · 6 months

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WHUMPTOBER day 28:

Prompt: "Bloody Knife"

4N1K İlk Aşk 5. Bölüm

#whumptober2023 #no.28 #bloody knife #4N1K İlk Aşk #gifs #Atakan Hoşgören #turkish #turkish series #whump #male whump #stabbed #pain #unconscious #comfort #worried #blood #hospital #intubated

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insertsomthinawesome · 1 year

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WHUMPTOBER 2022 - DAY 28 - Headache

Azul watches out for his 'employees' :>

-NO ROMANCE INCLUDED-

#Whumptober2022 #No.28 #Headache #Twisted Wonderland #twst #whumptober #twst jade #twst azul #azul ashengrotto #jade leech #isa's fanart #insertsomthinawesome #December2022 #Azul 'we're just business partners' ashengrotto spotted bullying jade to go sleep after he's had a migraine all day #Floyd dragged him over to help because Jade was just brushing it off with him #50/50 whether or not Jade will listen to floyd when he bugs him to rest #sometimes he's like oh yeah i do feel poor. I will go nap. other times he's like No??? I will survive???? Don't mind me????#and floyd wants to strangle him with concern and love SDXLSFIHSGLDFHIGFD

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celtic-crossbow · 6 months

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Whumptober 2023

No. 28 “You’ll have to go through me.”

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Alexandria

Warnings: Injuries, blood, threatened SA

“Daryl!”

He could hear his name but the voice was distant, muted as if he were under water; distorted and echoing. He was trying to open his eyes but with the brief, blurry, and tilted glimpses he was granted, he wasn’t certain if what he was seeing was real or an image in his head.

The metal door opening. A woman running in, moving in slow motion. In what seemed like less than a second of darkness, she was across the room, kneeling in front of him. But he was tired. Aching and bone-weary.

So Daryl slept.

He looked awful. He’d been beaten, that much was obvious. A deep black eye, split lip. Sweaty, yet freezing to the touch. Starved and dehydrated.

“Daryl! My god, what have they done to you?”

He had only looked at you for a heartbeat but he wasn’t seeing you. His eyes had since closed, head hanging. His pulse was racing, breaths were shallow bursts of air from around a bloody cloth gagging him.

“I’m gonna get you out of here.” Your hands paused over his wrist, bound too tightly to the arm of the chair. The skin below the rope was raw and bleeding. He had struggled, tried to free himself. Daryl was nothing if not resourceful. The fact he was still there was a testament to how injured he was.

You cut the rope from beneath on both sides before freeing his ankles as well. He was barefoot, reddened and blistered skin creeping up along the sides. They had burned the soles of his feet. Jesus. Lastly, you removed the gag and tossed it away with more force than necessary.

Your knife was placed next to your thigh, easily accessible if needed. With careful touches, you cupped his face to raise his head. “Daryl, can you hear me? I need you to wake up.” His eyes were shifting beneath closed lids as consciousness continued to attempt grasping. “Come on. That’s it. That’s it, hey.” You laughed in an exhale, so happy to see those blue eyes, muted and swollen as they were.

“Y/N?” He coughed wetly, his voice low and rough.

“Yeah, it’s me. You’re safe.” Small fingers carded through long, greasy strands of hair. “You’re safe now.”

“According to who?”

You were on your feet within seconds, knife forgotten as you drew your gun and aimed it toward the doorway. The man wasn’t even pointing his own firearm at you, his shoulder leaned casually against the doorframe. He was covered in blood and small injuries, having obviously ran from the fight with your comrades to secure his hostage.

“Back off, asshole.” You spat through gritted teeth.

“You weren’t gonna try to break him out all by yourself, were you?” He lazily motioned toward Daryl with the barrel of his gun. “I’m not done with him yet.”

“You want him, you’ll have to go through me.” You hissed immediately, firing a warning shot when he took a step into the room. “You don’t know me, shitbag.”

“I know you’re not gonna kill me today.” He aimed the rifle toward Daryl, but didn’t get a chance to fire. You shot first, the bullet hitting his right flank. When he continued to advance, you squeezed the trigger again only to be rewarded with the dreaded click of an empty clip.

“Fuck!” His shoulder drove into your chest, the two of you falling back against the chair. It tumbled to the side and sent Daryl careening onto the floor. The man straddled you and sat back on his knees, aiming the gun at your face. You grabbed the muzzle and pushed it aside as he fired, your ear ringing from the proximity of the shot.

Stunned, you couldn’t react in time to stop him from shifting and smashing the butt of the gun against your forehead. Pain sang through your head, your vision whiting out with each pulse.

“I think I’ll keep you too, pretty thing.” You clumsily swatted at his hands when he began trying to pet your face. “I need some…relief after a rough questioning with your pretty boy over here.” He continued trying to put his hands on you regardless of your weak efforts to fight him off. “Well, he’s not so pretty now, really.”

He finally grabbed your chin roughly, painfully tight, and leaned closer to your face. You started to struggle, wide eyes flicking to the right before you settled.

“Giving up already?” He mocked.

“No.” You snapped. “I just wanted to tell you that you were right.”

He laughed, squeezing your face impossibly harder. “About what?”

“I’m not gonna kill you today.” The man smirked and after a moment, you mirrored it. “He is.”

He didn’t have time to turn around before a hand roughly grabbed his forehead and pulled back, baring his throat for your knife to slide across it. Blood splattered onto your face but you didn’t care, your eyes on Daryl swaying and panting behind the body that fell to the side, freeing you to get up.

“Ya…ya alrigh’?” He asked, even as his legs buckled. You scrambled forward and caught him as he hit his knees. Even like this, he was heavy. His upper body was pressed against yours with his chin resting on your shoulder.

“I’m okay. And so are you. You’ll be okay. I’m here now.” You rubbed circles on his back with one hand while the other cradled the back of his head. You could see the flashlights and hear your friends calling both of your names. “I’m right here. And I’m taking you home.”

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