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simpforchuchu · 2 months

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Broken

Prompts: DAY 24 - “i’m doing this because i care about you” @febuwhump Characters: Nakagoshi x reader Fandom: High and Low Summary: Nakagoshi making everything worse

A/n for prompts: Hello guys! This is my first time trying a prompt challenge. I hope you like the short fics I wrote. I will finish them by writing some of the requests I have. I love you 💜

Sorry for the grammer or spelling mistakes.English is not my main language so...

Thank you and love you 🥰

Warnings: mention of fights but mostly fluffy

The young boy stood in front of the door of the broadcasting room, deciding whether to enter or not. He knew how much he hurt her. They had their first serious fight. And he was a little afraid of getting beaten by the three bodyguards next to his girlfriend inside.

While he was walking back and forth in front of the door, the door of the broadcasting room opened and someone came out. Even though Nakagoshi turned his head to see the person he saw, Todoroki had already seen him.

The boy with glasses raised his eyebrows and looked at the younger boy.

“I know why you are here, but it would be a lie if I said I wasn't surprised by your courage.”

Todoroki rolled his eyes when Nakagoshi nodded shyly.

"You can go in, tell Tsuji and Shibaman that I'm looking for them."

Nakagoshi nodded and bowed slightly

“Thank you senpai”

Todoroki nodded and headed towards the stairs. The young boy opened the door of the broadcasting room and entered with fear.

Tsuji and Shibaman were playing mobile games on the couch. As soon as the door opened, the girl punching the punching bag and the duo turned to the door.

Y/n was quite angry. She was also a part of this school and it made her angry that her boyfriend was treating her like this.

Shibaman stood up from the couch and moved towards the door.

Nakagoshi looked at the two nervously. The fights between Oya factions were over. Y/n had joined the Todoroki Faction, although they faced each other many times at first, those days were in the past. And the two fell in love with each other.

In fact, others were also quite happy about this situation. But today's fight made everyone angry.

Nakagoshi was in fault. What he said wasn't nice. Y/n was broken. Even though he realized his mistake now, Tsuji and Shiba still wanted to beat him.

Nakagoshi looked up at Shiba and bowed.

“Can I talk to Y/n, senpai?”

“Can you?”

When Shibaman raised an eyebrow and asked, Tsuji smiled and stood up. He touched Shiba's shoulder and stood in front of Nakagoshi.

“We will be right there, outside of the door.”

"But-"

“Shiba, let's go. They need to talk.”

When Tsuji pulled Shiba's arm and wanted to take him out, Shiba gave a threatening look one last time and went out with Tsuji.

Nakagoshi sighed and looked at the girl who was still punching the punching bag. She wasn't looking at him, she wasn't saying anything. He must have really hurt her.

He walked slowly towards the young girl. He held the bag she punched tightly and made the young girl stop. Y/n lowered her arms and looked at the boy in front of her.

Her gaze was very serious.

"What do you want ?"

“Please don't talk to me like that, I want to apologize.”

Y/n raised her fist again and punched the bag the boy was holding. She sighed and shouted

"I am tired. I am really tired. I'm tired of fighting about it all the time."

The young girl's voice became hoarse after a while. Her boyfriend nodded and took her hand.

"I know, I'm sorry. But you don't understand me either-“

“Because you're wrong.”

Y/n pulled her hand back and moved towards the couch. She sat down angrily and looked at the boy coming after her

“You are wrong. I was coming to the fights even before I met you. The only way to survive in this school is to fight. I really don't understand, why are you doing this?"

"Because I care about you." The young boy lowered his head and crouched in front of the young girl

“I'm doing this because I care about you, y/n. But I have no right to interfere with you. I know. I am sorry. I'm just too scared of losing you, so I don't know what I'm saying."

When the young boy's eyes filled with tears, y/n looked at him in surprise for a few seconds. She knew that Nakagoshi truly loved her. Even though she was hurt, she didn't want to see him cry. She took him by the hand and stood up with him.

“You are such an idiot. Just like everyone else in this school. But unfortunately I love you."

The young boy smiled at his girlfriend who hugged him and hugged her tightly. Being separated from her was the worst feeling in the world...

HnL taglist : @straysugzhpe @tiddly-winx @ninamarie1994 @emperorsnero @koala-yuna @little-miss-naill

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secret-bug-pain-blog · 2 months

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@febuwhump Day 24 - "I'm doing this because I care about you."

To anyone looking at this from the Dungeon Meshi tag - if you're anime-only, HERE THERE BE SPOILERS! If you've read the manga, the MAJOR spoilers are for Chapter 28 - plus a scattering of spoilers for later. This is a scene rewrite! Like the first time we've posted "just canon but from a different POV" also! We are counting internal monologue for that dialogue, and we are having Fun with it.

Watch your step, and we hope you enjoy.

From the instant that Marcille draws the first line of dragon's blood, she knows that she's gone too far to back out now.

There's a dreadful, solid certainty lodged in her chest as she brings her staff down, again and again. An awful sort of knowing, of

It's a unique kind of draining. Mana sickness is one thing, but this is another. Each line draws at something deep, deep inside of her soul, drawing more from her than she ever thought a spell could drain. She wants, so badly that it hurts, a sharp, desperate need for this to work. She dips her staff's handle in dragon's blood again, and she ignored the awful feeling of being bled to the bone. She's only ever theorized about dark magic before, never put it into practice herself - every line feels wrong, sickly, diseased, her staff scraping along the flagstones and funneling awful vibrations into her hands.

Every line she draws feels like a wretched, sickly sort of pain. Like picking at a wound that's only halfway scabbed over, half-clotted blood clinging to her fingernails as she picks at where her skin meets a gash, and scraping off the tiny, disgusting pieces of not-quite-scab onto a piece of paper. It's the worst thing she's ever done, and she hates it, every step of it, with a bubbling sense of revulsion that it feels like she'll never be clean of.

If she doesn't do this, then Falin will be dead. And Marcille doesn't want to live in a world where that's true.

She doesn't know how many runes it'll take, really. She knows the pattern, and that's enough - she just has to finish it. One rune, then another. She doesn't need to know how long.

The world, for what feels like a long time, is just her and the runes.

One, then the next. The future doesn't matter. The past is gone. She inks rune after rune in rotting, thickening blood, pausing to re-ink her staff when it runs dry. The only thing that matters is the next rune in the sequence, and it doesn't matter how long it takes. She has a thousand years to live ahead of her, a thousand years to spend doing anything she wants - she doesn't care how many of them she has to spend doing this, if it gives her Falin back. One rune, then the next.

Marcille reaches to dip her staff in dragon's blood a last time, and stops.

The circle is done.

Marcille is already horribly, horribly tired.

More than tired, really. Exhausted, a bone-deep ache in her chest like she's worked out a muscle she never knew that she had. She feels like she's on the brink of passing out, staring down at a circle of dragonblood runes that she's worn her staff's handle down to fraying roots from. The purpose in her chest that was so strong barely a minute ago is fading, flickering. Fatigue knocks into her like a truck, and she's swaying on her feet, struggling to cling on to consciousness.

She knows, more than she's ever known anything before, that she has to finish this.

She thinks of Falin, and she steels her will to move forward.

Pelvis, femur, humerus. Twelve rib bones, easy to tell apart. The vertebrae, the hands and feet - calcaneus, metatarsal, metacarpal. Eight carpal bones in the wrist, hamate, triquetrum, pisiform, lumate, trapezoid, trapezium, capitate, scaphoid. Falin's wrist bones are shorter than hers, shaped different in a way that's both subtle and the most obvious thing in the world. It's all she can do not to stop and stare at them, hypnotized by the broken remains of her friend - tallman bones, white and clean, so unfamiliar compared to Falin's soft frame, so much like the ones she's already seen buried.

She doesn't know what she'll do if Falin's soul has already left her body. She can't allow herself to entertain the idea of it. Falin will live, because she has to live, because she needs to- because Marcille can't let her die.

She lowers her staff, and she starts to chant.

She's doing this because she cares about her. Because she can't live without her. Because the very idea of trying to go on without Falin, after all this effort to find her, after all this effort to bring her back, is poison on her tongue, fire in her veins, a sickly death in the pit of her stomach. She's doing this because she cares about her, because she wants to talk to her again, because she wants to talk with her, to eat with her, to sit shoulder to shoulder with her as she talks about magic again.

She's doing this because she cares about Falin, so badly that it feels like her heart's started to rip itself apart in her ribcage - because she wants her back, because she wants to talk to her again, because she needs to hold her hand again and press her palm against her cheek and tangle her lanky, bony body around her soft tallman chest and hold her so tight that nothing else exists in the world. She's doing this because she needs Falin, with such strength that it nearly feels like she's drowning in her own skin with every moment she's away from her. She wants, so badly that she can barely keep herself from crumpling on the spot under the sheer weight of it.

Falin. Falin. Falin.

She chants her name in her head with every repetition of the spell, wanting, hoping, begging for this to work. The drain feels like she's cut a hole in her very soul, like she's bleeding out her lips with every word she speaks, like she's slicing holes in the vessel that holds all of her being. Falin, Falin, Falin - her soul to her body, the dragon's flesh to her bones, anything to make her whole again, anything to make her well again, anything.

She draws from the well, again and again, driving herself on sheer, desperate desire. Falin, a silent cry beneath the chorus of the spell. Falin, a desperate wish whispered into the darkness of the dungeon. Falin, Falin, Falin, she cries out, again and again, blind and deaf but for the runes carved into the stone. Falin, Falin, Falin, Falin, Falin-

Marcille is more exhausted than she ever has been, more exhausted than she ever knew was possible to be- she tastes bitter blood on her tongue as she chants. She draws from the well deep inside of herself, draws until it's dry and then beyond that, desperation and need driving her on and on and on. Falin, Falin- she digs deeper, deeper, past the well and into the ground beneath. She wants, she wants, she wants-

"Falin..." she starts. The words flicker on her tongue, abruptly uncertain and unclear. She knew what she was saying only a second ago, but now she struggles to put anything to words. The chant fades out, the words leaving her tongue - she can't remember why she was chanting them anymore, can't remember what she was doing. Her limbs feel weak, bowing under her body's weight, her willpower abruptly draining. Her fingers loosen on her staff, suddenly void of all drive they once possessed. She looks down, bleary-eyed, at rusty red runes drawn for a purpose she can't quite remember, and for a moment, there is nothing to her thoughts but the dull echo of a desire nearly entirely devoured.

And then she is unconscious, and she thinks no more.

#whump #my posts #febuwhump #febuwhumpday24 #febuwhump2024 #i'm doing this because i care about you #dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi spoilers #marcille donato #resurruction #fear of death #fatigue #writing #my writing

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rrain-writes · 2 months

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Rain's LU Febuwhump: Day 24

"I'm doing this because I care about you.": Sky & Warriors

Warnings: Talks of dying, possession

“I’m doing this because I care about you. You know that, right?”

“No.” Sky rasped. “No I don’t understand.”

Warriors frowned, looking down at the hero who sat propped against the wall.

“Wars, please.” Sky begged. “Please. I don’t know what’s happening but you need to snap out of it.”

The captain just turned away, so Sky couldn’t see the grin that crossed his face.

Sky’s voice was raw, his throat sore and parched. He couldn’t recall why he had been screaming.

From outside the room, snarls and the clash of weapons could be heard. His brother were shouting to each other as they fought, though he couldn’t make out the words.

“Warriors please, they’re dying.”

“People die everyday.”

“They’re your brothers!”

Warriors turned back to face Sky with a snarl. “Do you know what happens when this quest is over, Skyloft knight? We leave, go back to our own times. After this, you’ll never see your brothers again.”

Sky was so dizzy, that it took him a moment for the words the process. “Skyloft knight?” He asked. “You never call me that.”

Understanding dawned on him. “You aren’t Warriors.”

Not Warriors smiled, cold and cruel. “Took you long enough.”

Sky was injured, and trapped in a room with someone who was impersonating the captain. His brothers were fighting a loosing battle. The real Warriors was unaccounted for.

The skyloftian swallowed before asking the question. “Who are you then, and what did you do to Wars.”

“Wars.” The imposter mocked, then he laughed. It sounded wrong coming from Warriors’ mouth. “You’ll never get to him in time. The other heroes will die out there. And you? You will die, knowing that you were the one to doom them all. As for who I am? I think you already know, hero.”

Sky did. “Dark Link.”

Dark Link’s smile didn’t belong on the kind hearted captain.

#fan fiction #linked universe #lu #febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday24 #warriors #lu warriors #sky #lu sky #talks of dying #possession #dark link

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siderealdei · 2 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi Characters: CC-2224 | Cody, Obi-Wan Kenobi Additional Tags: Febuwhump 2024, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Order 66 Happened Differently (Star Wars), Emperor CC-2224 | Cody Series: Part 13 of Febuwhump 2024 Summary:

Febuwhump Day 24: "I'm doing this because I care about you"

A quiet night in for Emperor Cody and his lover.

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday24 #star wars clone wars #codywan #my fic #my writing

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just-here-with-my-thoughts · 2 months

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Day 24: "I'm doing this because I care about you" / Victim Blaming

@febuwhump prompt: "I'm doing this because I care about you" @badthingshappenbingo prompt: Victim Blaming

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Cadet Crosshair, Cadet Hunter, Cadet Wrecker, Cadet Tech Cadet Batch as featured in my WIP fic 'Pieces of the People We Love' - haven't read it? All you need to know is that Crosshair is the oldest, and Hunter is the youngest! Word Count: ~1725 Click here to read on AO3

Synopsis: Crosshair is severe and unyielding when it comes to dealing with a headlice infestation.

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“Headlice treatment,” Tech read from the bottle’s label. “To be applied weekly until infestation is cleared.”

Wrecker grinned broadly, leaning back and linking his hands behind his head. Cropping his hair back to his scalp had some advantages.

“Doesn’t sound too bad,” said Crosshair, scowling as he caught himself itching his nape and forcing his hand back down to his side. “So what do you do? Just… use it like soap?”

“It is a little more complex than that,” said Tech, turning the bottle over. “The lotion has to be left on the hair to act, followed by a thorough fine combing to remove as many lice and eggs as possible.”

“You got eggs in your hair?” sniggered Wrecker. Crosshair punched him in the shoulder to shut him up.

Hunter took the bottle from Tech’s hands, reading the label for himself. “Do you… d’you have to do the combing step?” he asked with an apprehensive grimace.

“Yes,” said Tech firmly, snatching the bottle back. “And if you would comb your hair daily then it wouldn’t seem like such an ordeal to get the tangles out.”

Crosshair threw an arm round Hunter’s shoulders, ruffling his hair and feeling his fingers catch in the knots. “He’s right,” he said with a merciless grin. “This is going to be agony.”

Hunter moaned and clamped his hands to his head, shielding his matted hair. Wrecker bellowed a laugh at the distressed look on the youngest’s face.

“Let’s start with your hair, Hunter, since it’s likely to take the longest,” sighed Tech, eyeing Hunter’s shoulder-length locks. “At least Crosshair and I should have an easier time of the treatment.”

Hunter reluctantly allowed himself to be guided to the freshers, stripped to his waist and with a towel thrown round his shoulders.

“The lotion is to be applied directly to the scalp and left to saturate the roots,” explained Tech, cracking the seal on the bottle and twisting off the lid.

The pungent chemical scent hit all of them. Tech covered his mouth and Crosshair wrinkled his nose in disgust – even Wrecker, leaning in the doorway, wafted a hand in front of his face in objection.

Hunter paled under his tanned skin. Then he was shoving past his brothers, promptly emptying his stomach into the basin.

“Hunter!” and “Eugh!” and “Gross!” echoed simultaneously from the three other enhanced cadets. Tech quickly stoppered the bottle, although the acrid fumes lingered in the small fresher room, mingling with the stale smell of Hunter’s vomit.

The dark lineart of his tattoo stood out against Hunter’s pallor as he turned back to face the others, wide-eyed panic painted on his face. “You can’t put that stuff on my hair,” he pleaded, pointing shakily at the offending bottle. “You can’t. The smell will kill me!”

“Stop being so dramatic,” scolded Tech, although he backpedalled towards Wrecker and the door as a sympathetic wave of nausea made him gag. “We all have to have the treatment. Otherwise Crosshair and I will continue to catch headlice from you, even if we clear our own infestations.”

Crosshair chucked a towel at Hunter. “Clean the sink, then meet us back out here,” he said, eyes narrowed in a familiar glare. “I’ll think of something.”

Twenty minutes later Hunter slunk out of the fresher and back into the bunk room, his colour looking a little better.

Crosshair, Tech and Wrecker quickly straightened from where they had been clustered in deep discussion. Hunter shot them a mistrustful look.

“What’s going on?”

“I’ve got a plan,” announced Crosshair.

“And?”

Crosshair pounced.

It was only Hunter’s recent nausea that let Crosshair catch him unawares. The taller clone knocked his brother to the floor, immediately moving to grab his arms.

“Crosshair!” Hunter yelled, the name a curse as he bucked wildly and came close to shaking the older boy off. Crosshair responded by flipping Hunter to his front, quickly wrenching his arms up behind him and placing a knee firmly on his back, leaning all of his weight into it to keep Hunter pinned.

“If you can’t handle the lotion treatment,” said Crosshair, baring his teeth in a humourless grin as he fought to still his ferocious younger brother, “we’re going to go for the Wrecker special.”

Hunter wrenched his head to the side, gazing in terror up at Wrecker’s shaved head. “You wouldn’t dare,” he snarled, trying and failing to twist away.

“Wrecker?” said Crosshair, almost casually.

Wrecker grinned at his cue, cricking his neck and sauntering over with the clippers in one hand. Hunter renewed his struggle in earnest as the blades whirred to life.

“I feel somewhat uncomfortable at the idea of forcing this on Hunter against his will,” protested Tech from several feet away.

“If you’re not going to help just keep your mouth shut,” hissed Crosshair. Awkwardly he locked both Hunter’s arms with one of his and with his newly freed hand grabbed a fistful of his hair, holding his head in place.

“I’ll use the lotion! I’ll use it!” howled Hunter.

Crosshair scoffed. “You threw up just at the smell of it!”

“I’ll… I’ll put up with it! I can! Please, Cross–”

“And having your hair combed?”

“Yes!”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Crosshair!” Hunter’s pleas were rapidly dissolving into sobs. “I’ll do it, I’ll use the lotion, I’ll comb my hair. Please don’t cut it!”

Now Wrecker hesitated, crouched by Hunter’s head and looking to Crosshair for guidance. “Whaddya say, Cross? Gonna let him up?”

“To be applied weekly,” Crosshair quoted. “You’ve got long hair. It will take weeks.”

“I’ll do it!”

“I’m not having you throwing up and sick every week!” Crosshair dug his knee more firmly into Hunter’s spine, drawing a whimper of pain from the boy. “Your hair will grow back. Probably quicker than you’d get rid of the lice.”

For a moment he loosened his grip on Hunter’s hair, stroking his scalp almost soothingly. Then he twisted his fingers into place once more, glancing at Wrecker with a nod.

“I’m doing this because I care about you,” he ground out through gritted teeth, ignoring Hunter’s sobs as Wrecker started to shave great hanks of hair from Hunter’s head. “Better this than weeks of sickness.”

By the time they were done the humour had faded from the situation. Wrecker looked solemn as he made a final untidy pass over Hunter’s shorn head. Tech had retreated to his bunk, curled up with his back to the others and headphones turned up so loud the noise spilled into the now-quiet room.

Beneath Crosshair’s weight Hunter’s fight had subsided to piteous submission. Crosshair knew Hunter hated having the clippers near his head. Hated the noise, hated the faint electromagnetic field from their power-pack. They had cut Hunter’s hair once before. Only once.

Wrecker shut off the clippers and rocked back on his heels. “There. All done.”

Crosshair ran his hand across Hunter’s unevenly clipped hair, making a soothing noise. “Hey. It’s over. You’re okay,” he murmured softly, gently easing himself up to free the younger boy.

Hunter curled in on himself, hunched over his knees and wrapping his arms tightly round his chest.

“I hate you Crosshair.”

It was a venomous whisper. Crosshair looked taken aback and glanced at Wrecker for support.

“It’s better this way,” he repeated, but there was a note of doubt in his voice. “Better than the lotion making you sick.”

Hunter pushed to his feet, keeping his head tucked down and shoulders hunched defensively. He grabbed a clean shirt from his bunk without a word and let himself out of the room.

Crosshair watched him go in bewildered silence. Beside him Wrecker toyed with the clippers, and used his toe to nudge Hunter’s shorn locks into a single pile.

Glancing over, Tech removed his headphones and stood.

“If you’re quite done with that drama, perhaps we can treat our headlice now.”

Crosshair followed him to the bathroom without comment.

The scent of the lotion made him gag as he applied it, but he breathed shallowly through his mouth and scrubbed it into the roots of his close-cropped hair. Tech busied himself with his datapad, refusing to look at Crosshair. Crosshair didn’t like that. It gave him time to think.

He wouldn’t apologise. He wouldn’t. He was right. This was better for Hunter.

He cared for Hunter. Cared too much. Had felt a jolt of panic when the fumes had made Hunter throw up.

No matter how Hunter felt about it, this was the best option.

As he stood in the fresher, feeling sick to his stomach, he tried to tell himself it was the lotion that made his sensitive eyes water.

Not Hunter’s hurt and fear.

Not the way Hunter had fled without a backwards glance.

“Crosshair? Time to comb your hair.”

He followed Tech’s instructions numbly, scraping the fine-toothed comb through his silvery hair in careful sections until his whole scalp prickled. Then he leaned his head over the sink, lathering shampoo into his hair and rinsing it again and again until the chemical smell no longer lingered.

Until he thought the smell no longer lingered. Who knew what Hunter would think.

“It’s Hunter’s fault,” he announced, unprompted. “If he didn’t have such long hair it would have been easier to treat. Probably wouldn’t have caught lice in the first place.”

“Do you really believe that?” asked Tech cooly. He kept his attention fixed on his own reflection, combing through his hair with painstaking precision.

“Yes,” snarled Crosshair defensively. Yes, he did believe it. Had to believe it.

He busied himself towelling his hair roughly, so he didn’t have to look at Tech as he asked his next question.

“Hunter will get over this, right?”

Tech was silent until Crosshair peeked out from under the towel. He was staring at Crosshair in the mirror above the sink.

“Hunter’s hair will grow back,” said Tech, in a flat tone of voice that filled Crosshair with dread.

The young engineer grabbed his own towel and moved to the door.

“His trust… I don’t know.”

Crosshair watched Tech go. Watched the empty doorway for a while. Eventually he moved to the door and shut it, engaging the lock.

The privacy gave him chance to sift through his thoughts.

He sat with his back to the door for a long time, listening for Hunter’s return.

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday24 #“i'm doing this because i care about you”#badthingshappenbingo #victim blaming #the bad batch #tbb fanfic #cadet batch #headlice

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such-a-random-rambler · 2 months

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Febuwhump - Day 24

“What the hell Scott?” John’s an oncoming storm, descending from the heavens to wreak vengeance on those who’ve wronged him. Scott can feel John’s anger already – at being grounded, at finding out about it third hand – and he’s still several miles away. Scott knows that there will be a good dose of disappointment at Scott in there, all covering John’s simmering and ever-present fear of not being good enough.

But Scott’s seen John’s latest medical reports, and John can no longer hide the true state of his health.

“You have to understand, I’m doing this because I care about you.”

#febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday24 #I'm doing this because I care about you #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #john tracy

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adrift-in-thyme · 1 year

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Day 24: Blood on Clothes (Legend & Hyrule)

Ao3 link

Cw for blood and injury

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Washing clothes is hardly at the top of Legend’s to-do list. Not that it ever really is. There are more important things, like, well, survival.

(Not that staying clean isn't a vital part of that, and Legend takes pride in his ability to remain sanitary and smelling fresh no matter the circumstance. But still, when it comes down to it, he'd rather avoid an untimely, gruesome demise than scrub a stain.)

But today it’s definitely not. No, that esteemed top spot goes to ensuring his best friend stays alive.

(Best friend. That isn’t something he ever thought he’d call someone again. Not after…well, everything.)

He’s done everything he can, though, as horribly lacking as his actions may feel. He’s coaxed the hero to drink the remnants of his potions, bandaged his wounds to the best of his ability, covered him with the blanket Legend keeps for occasions like these. Now, all he can do is wait for the others to find them…and try to scrub the blood out of Hyrule’s tunic.

Waiting, it turns out, is one of his least favorite things ever.

He sighs and casts a glance over his shoulder. Roolie slumbers not far from the stream he sits beside, face drawn and pale, body shuddering with each labored breath. The sight of him makes something clench unpleasantly within Legend, a tightening of his heart courtesy of an emotion he thought long snuffed out.

Why’d he have to pick now to start opening up, becoming comfortable with his companions? Just the other night Roolie and Sky had snuggled up beside him as they sat around the fire, and he’d let them. He’s going soft.

Legend chokes on a half-sob and brings a hand up to rub it roughly across his face. Blood smears in its wake. Roolie’s blood.

By Hylia, why’d he have to pick now to finally let himself love again?

Fable had been so happy when he’d introduced her to his new traveling companions, so proud to see how he trusted them, cared about them.

“You’re opening your heart again, Link,” she’d said, smiling. And he’d blushed (he always feels like such a love-struck idiot around her) and laughed it off. But he hadn’t denied it. Because she had been right.

He has begun opening his heart again, bit by agonizing bit. First to her, and now to those he calls his brothers. And look where it’s gotten him.

With a sigh, he swipes at his eyes and turns from the sight of his friend shivering and mumbling feverish nonsense in his sleep. He plunges his tunic into the water with far more force than is necessary. Hyrule doesn’t need it right now, not with the massive bandage wrapped around his stomach and chest, not with the fabric torn and bloodied. Infections happen from leaving stuff like that near a wound, and Legend isn’t taking any chances.

Besides, the weather is pleasant enough. Not that Roolie can enjoy it, with the fever making his body vacillate between dizzying extremes. But at least it gives Legend a chance to do something with his hands besides twiddle them.

The water goes crimson as soon as the garment hits it, wisps of red floating from it to twine about Legend’s fingers. He stares at it, almost transfixed. It’s not like he hasn’t seen blood before, though he’s never comfortable with the sight. But touching this much of it, knowing who it belongs to, makes him sick.

And he’s hopeless to restrain the memories it dredges up. Memories of a battle that should never have happened, of walking into a trap he should’ve seen, of Roolie leaping forward to take a hit for him.

He can still hear his cry as the sword sliced through fabric and skin. He still feel his blood, running hot and fast over his hands as he caught him as he collapsed.

“Le-leg?”

Legend jolts out of his daze, turning to see Hyrule’s eyes flicker open. They’re bright with pain and confusion, dazedly searching the space without truly comprehending what they see. When they settle on him, though, relief colors the traveler’s features.

“You-you’re…is it over? Are you sa-safe?”

Setting down the still-filthy garment, Legend stands and walks to his side. He bends down and brushes Hyrule’s sweat soaked bangs out of his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m safe, Roolie,” he says, bitterly. “You made sure of that. Now, go back to sleep. You need your rest.”

Hyrule blinks blearily up at him. Legend isn’t certain if he can even truly understand what he’s saying in this state. Then another shudder runs through him, and he exhales a shaky sigh which quickly turns into a coughing fit. Curling deeper into the blanket he gives Legend a pleading look.

“H-hurts Leg.”

Legend swallows, hard. Reaching out, he grasps Hyrule’s hand and gives it a gentle squeeze.

“I know it does.”

I’m sorry.

He sits beside Hyrule until his eyes slip closed once more, face going slack with slumber. Then, he maneuvers his hand out from his loose grasp and heads back to the stream. The tunic is still there waiting for him, dripping wet and coated in blood and dirt. Swiping at the tears streaming down his face, he drops down and shoves it into the water once more.

Legend takes out every ounce of his frustration on it, scrubbing until his fingers are raw and red no longer blossoms from the fabric with every dunk. It’s still stained though. When he holds it up to the light he can see it plainly–the blotches of dark brown against the forest green.

He lays the tunic on his legs and stares down at it, a lump situated painfully in his throat. It’s torn even worse than he thought; a gash trails from the shoulder down. He’ll have to sew it so the traveler can wear it again once he’s healed.

Yes–he balls his hands into fists, fingernails cutting flesh–he will survive, he will heal. Even if he has to carry him back to camp, he’ll make sure of that.

Only, doing that would be a lot easier if their camp was within walking distance…or even in the same Hyrule. The last portal had malfunctioned, spewing the heroes out in various different timelines and locations. Legend can only imagine where the others might be right now. Somewhere far away no doubt. Just as far as any sign of civilization in this cursed place.

Rising, he lays the tunic flat on a nearby rock and walks back to Hyrule’s side. He drops down into the grass with a huff. Now, without the action of cleaning, he feels even more useless than before. There’s still just as little he can do, however, just as little that he can contribute to alleviate Hyrule’s pain.

He has nearly everything in his pouch, for nearly every situation. But he’s clean out of potions.

Because of course he is.

And as for any convenient communication devices, he’s clean out of those too. Wild and Wind are all too lucky to have such a link.

“You ‘k Vet?”

Legend starts, and turns, to see Hyrule gazing up at him. His eyes are still too bright, his skin still too pale, and his cheeks have an unnatural flush.

“I should be asking you that,” he replies with a dry chuckle. “How’re you feeling, Roolie?”

Hyrule shrugs, then winces. In the next moment he dissolves into a coughing fit that ends with blood splattering across the blanket and Legend’s boot. He tries his best to ignore it and leans forward, placing a hand on Hyrule’s arm. The traveler gives him a weak grin.

“I’m re-really great.”

“Yeah, that’s real believable.” Legend scoots closer, tucking the blanket tighter around his slim shoulders. He looks so impossibly small like this, and it makes his heart hurt. “Look, Roolie, you’ve gotta hold on for me until the others find us, okay?”

Hyrule nods.

“Swear?”

He nods again, a small smile quirking his lips. “I sw-swear.”

There are tears in his eyes again, traitorous and unrestrainable, and Legend blinks furiously to try to clear them.

“Good. Cause I can’t–” He clears his throat. “–I can’t deal with these morons alone.”

Hyrule’s smile grows a bit larger. “Aww you do-don’t think I’m…moron.”

Legend shakes his head, choking on a sob. “No, Roolie, you’re not a moron. You’re–you’re…”

My successor. My friend. My little brother.

He looks up at the setting sun. The clouds are as red as the blood that had coated his hands and Roolie’s tunic, red as the blood he knows is oozing through his clumsy bandaging, garish and gory and unignorable.

“Just stay with me, Roolie,” he whispers.

Hyrule doesn’t answer. He has already drifted off again, shuddering in the grasp of fever dreams. Legend wishes he could take them away. Instead, he takes the traveler’s hand once more and sends a silent, desperate plea to whatever cursed gods may still be listening.

And somewhere in the distance, a wolf howls.

#febuwhump2023 #febuwhumpday24 #blood and injury #linkeduniverse #lu legend #lu hyrule #trin writes

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whumpinthepot · 2 months

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@febuwhump 2024

Day 24. “I’m doing this because I care about you”

Content: Pet whump, BBU adjacent, fear of punishment, caretaker is new master, family dynamics,

—

The ride home was eerily quiet despite Ratty’s sniffling. They looked out the window at the passing houses, away from the woman who had taken them. They had promised Auggie that they wouldn’t fight her, and to listen to her, but they didn’t promise they wouldn’t be difficult for her. The car was too hot, and the seat belt clung to Ratty’s chest much like the restraints at the Pet Facility.

“Are you going to be silent the whole ride home?” The woman’s voice was sharp in Ratty’s ears. Her slim hands clutched the steering wheel and she only glanced at Ratty, then back to the road.

Ratty flinched, and their training pulled an answer from their lips against their will. “I would rather that, ma’am. I don’t much want to talk to you.” Ratty silently cursed themself out for even speaking, and dug their nails into their palms, ready for a blow to the head.

The woman’s mouth stretched into a thin line but she never struck them. Instead, she reasoned. “I know you’re angry with me, Ryland, but I’m doing this because I care about you. You need to be with your family where you’re safe while you recover.”

“I’m not sick… ma’am.” Ratty felt a tug of annoyance, and dared to side eye this woman. They didn’t believe her at all, and if it wasn’t for their promise they would have been long gone by now. The thought of jumping out of a moving vehicle was not lost on them.

“No honey, I know. You’ve been through a lot. We all have. I know it’ll be an adjustment but you have to trust me. It won’t be as bad as you think.” She spouted more nonsense and Ratty grit their teeth in refusal to respond to it, even with the training pulling at them to be polite.

They expected punishment once they got to her house, but they didn’t care. If this was the only way they could lash out, they would keep it up.

They were angry at her, sure, but they were even more angry at Auggie for giving them away. Ratty really believed that he wanted them. He made them believe that.

What a fool they were…

—

Thank you @ilasknives for looking this piece over for me <3

Febuwhump tag list: @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @blackrosesandwhump

General writing tag list: @frogkingdom @coppercoyoti @alittlewhump

#febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday24 #febuwhump #whump writing #bbu #pet whump #breezys writing #breezys post #ratts race #kat #ratty #pet ratty #bb ratty #august

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circus-complex · 2 months

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day twenty four of @febuwhump! prompt: ““i’m doing this because i care about you”

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 人渣反派自救系统 - 墨香铜臭 | The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Luo Binghe, Shen Yuan | Shen Qingqiu Additional Tags: When shen qingqiu pushes binghe into the abyss, and is sad about it, Febuwhump, Febuwhump2024 Series: Part 23 of Circus_Complex's Febuwhump 2024 Summary:

Shen Qingqiu pushes Luo Binghe into the abyss.

full work under the cut

Shen Qingqiu stared down his nose at Luo Binghe. The sword, which had pierced his heart, trembled in his hand. Luo Binghe stared up at his Shizun, expressionless, emotionless.

Luo Binghe wasn't surprised. Shizun had been too kind to him. Everything good had to have something twice as bad. This was it.

Tears started to form at the corner of Shen Qingqiu’s eyes.

“Binghe…I’m sorry. I can’t tell you how, or why. I. Please, be safe.”

With that, he shoved Luo Binghe down into the abyss. Luo Binghe started to smile. This was the bad after the good. He had balanced it out. He would escape this…chasm. It would be horrible, he knew. And after, he would see his Shizun again. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do. But no matter how bad this would be, there would be something half as good in the end. And that was enough.

#febuwhump #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday24 #luo binghe #shen yuan #shen qingqiu

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how-much-for-a-whump · 1 year

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FEBUWHUMP day 24:

Prompt: "Bloody clothes"

Extraction (2020)

@febuwhump

#febuwhump2023 #febuwhump #febuwhumpday24 #bloody clothes #extraction #chris hemsworth #whump #male whump #shot #blood #bleeding #pain #head wound #weak #self-sacrifice

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scratchandplaster · 2 months

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FEBUWHUMP DAY 24 - "I'm doing this because I care about you"

CW: dubcon touching, disabled Whumpee, regretful Whumper

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The Jays were winning - at least that's what Elliot suspected, given the commentators' roar coming from the TV.

He sat at the bottom end of the bed, Chris hovering over his left shoulder like a hawk, and tried his best to enjoy the late-afternoon baseball match.

For what felt like an eternity now, Chris had waited for a good day, a good hour to start this special kind of torture. One had to ask if there was any sense to it all. If Fahim's professional efforts back at the hospital left Elliot like this, what could the maker do against his permanent souvenir?

Still, Morris had fought tooth and nail for this chance and finally, he didn't dare to betray this hard-earned trust. Rule number one Elliot had made extremely clear: don't touch the hand.

Okay then, Chris could work around that. He started slowly, dots of lotion were carefully rubbed across the neck and shoulder to help ease a first group of sore muscles.

Even one single touch burned like the infection was still lingering inside. Deep breaths kept Elliot stable, though he indulged in the fantasy of jumping up and out the window. Again and again, his muscles were worked until red, until circulation had found its way back towards them.

Just as both men got used to the uncomfortable dynamic, Chris stumbled on a noticeably denser point inside the tissue.

Pressing down on the trigger point with more force, the good kind of pain, the one that brought relief with it, flooded Elliot. It even reached behind his eyes, coaxing a quiet moan out of him, as the finger fought the possible birthplace of the headaches that haunted him on really lousy days.

Satisfied with his subject's compliance, Chris dared to move lower, kneading along his upper arm as if he were trying to wring his biceps out like a wet towel. Call it pain-induced placebo, but Elliot felt a sense of ease spread underneath the constant burn.

A few inches further proximal, a cluster of hardened muscle cords slumbered underneath cold skin. Chris, using the same intensity as before, pressed his thumb into it.

A coiling sting, the bad kind this time, tore through his joints and made him leap up in surprise.

"Easy with the pressure, man."

"You're not wounded here," Chris claimed matter-of-factly.

What a pretty way to tell me to shut it, Elliot thought to himself. Even though the festering heat did have its root in the bright red scar under his fingers, it still sprouted throughout his upper body erratically. He groaned: "No, but-"

"Then it's fine."

"It's not, it hurts!"

Morris huffed, his face glowing crimson in the TV lighting: "I can get this to work, just be more patient."

"I'm not a rusty hinge you can bend straight again!"

Withdrawing quickly, too quickly for his nerves' liking, Elliot escaped the wrench-like hold. Great strategy, just squeeze every last drop of optimism from me.

Defeated and huffy, Chris just dropped back against the headboard and pulled him close against his chest. Another word and his Ell would probably give him the cold shoulder until dawn.

In silence, they returned to watch the game unfold. The Jays were definitely winning tonight.

Careful to let his hand rest at a relieving angle, they both knew that every step towards Elliot's recovery was frustratingly tedious and without any guarantee of success. Tomorrow, Chris would try again.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Febuwhump 2024 Masterlist]

@febuwhump

#elliot: my movement is restricted and accompanied by constant pain #chris: have you tried turning it off and on again?#whump #whumpblr #creative writing #whump community #whump drabble #febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday24 #dubcon touching #disabled Whumpee #regretful whumper #stack the deck #elliot ribera oc #christoph morris oc #carewhumper #broken comfort

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its-my-whump · 2 months

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Febuwhump - Day 24

"I'm doing this, because I care about you."

@febuwhump

Tw: emotional whump, puking, being held against their will

"I'm doing this because I care about you." His voice was strong and steady, but the pain and sadness in his eyes betrayed him. His eyes were glacy and if Sam wasn't burning with fever and rage, if his guts wouldn't feel like, they were desolving in acid and his hands weren't twitching like he was electricuded, he would have noticed. But he didn't.

He leaped forward. His weakend muscles gave way right the moment he pushed himself up from the bed. His right arm, even though feeling like an uncooked sausage broke his fall out of reflex before his jaw smashed into the wooden floor. His ears were ringing, his head on the urge to explode.

"I'm sorry." The voice behind the closing door was thin compared to the big frame of a man he was. It felt like he had to swallow against a lumb the size of a minivan in his throat.

"TRAITOR! I hate you! Come back here and I beat the living hell outta ya, you basta...!"

Sam's voice was hoarse, half the words breaking and he couldn't even finish his curse, before he started retching, again.

His friend, not foe, slid down the door leaf beaten. He was a bear of a man, nevertheless silent tears overflew his lids and buried trails in his sorrowful face. Strong jaws bit down on his own fist as he put the back of his head against the closed door.

On the other side of which, there was a scramble. He could hear the urgency in the uncoordiated movement and more unpleasend rumble. It sounded painful, puke coming out a sour throat again and again, until the undenaible agony of dry retching filled his ears. He bit down on his fist, that the skin around his teeth got white, when a deep drawn sob was interrupted by gasping for air behind his head. The bucket his friend just went for, was audible pushed over the wooden floor, out of the way, he guessed. The slight bump, that followed, painted the picture of his friend laying down on the floor, in his head, probably drained of all his energy, maybe he even just fell unconsciously. Laying there in a heap, all alone and suffering.

He hoped, Sam really passed out, so he hadn't had to go through every second of his withdrawl aware of all the pain and suffering his body went through, while every cell was fighting against him, by being turned inside out.

But his wish wasn't fulfilled, he heard Sam sliently gasping, as pain ripped through the thin kid. He could hear his feet sliding helplessly over the boards. The thrembling got so bad, an audible little drum solo of his friends overreacting muscles bouncing hard against his underlay was played. Little painful grunts came from the other side of that door, clearly muted as Sam bit down on his own hand or sleeve to deal with the agony his body unleashed on him.

"I'm doing this because I care about you." The big guy pulled his hand out of his mouth and whispered to himself as more tears trailed down his cheeks. Clear bitmarks got visible between his knuckles, but the physical pain was nothing, compared to the crack in his soul, when he put his best friend on cold turkey.

If someone could have looked from above, there they were. Best friends on each side of that door, crying and suffering for what they had to go through.

My masterlist

#febuwhumpday24 #febuwhump #i'm doing this because i care about you #whump #writing #whump writing #whump community #cold turkey

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