welcome to the Whumperless Whump Event of July! for your sickfic, situational, and completely apersonal whump needs--comfort included, of course. follow @whumperless-whump-event for more information and details!
Image transcripts, tagging rules, and guidelines under the cut!
RULES
Any and all art types allowed (GIFs, drawings, music, writing, etc.)
No AI generated content allowed
OCs and Fandom works alike are welcome :)
Trigger and content tags required, even if the prompt explicitly requires the content (eg. Vomiting still needs the emetophobia tag)
NSFT and NSFW are allowed, if tagged appropriately. This blog will not reblog them, as minors do follow it. However, you're still free to write as you please :)
If enough interest is shown, I will make an Ao3 collection (edit: ao3 collection is made and can be found here)
Side note: please let me know if there's anything I can do to make this post or event more accessible. Should I put the image transcripts on the ID too? Is the formatting causing issues? What can I do?
This is not a contest, just an event. The only awards will be announcements for people who completed the whole darn thing. My entries will not receive any announcements or awards, because I'm hosting
TAGGING
Tag with, per example: #whumperless whump event day 1; #whumperless whump event; and (optional) #whumperless whump event day 1: alcohol as a sanitizer
Tag @whumperless-whump-event please! If not, I may not see it or be able to reblog it!
If desired, tag the medium you used
Trigger tag and content warn (including nsfw/nsft)
If posting early, tag with #wwe early entry. If posting late, tag with #wwe late entry. If posting just for fun, no need to tag these!
IMPORTANT:
There are NO OTHER RULES. Do one prompt! Do seven! Do 'em all! Repeat the same prompt six days in a row! Switch them around and do them all out of order! Post them eight months after the event is over! Finish the prompt list early! Write one long-ass story that deals with every prompt or do a one-sentence drabble for each one! Recommend your favorite scenes regarding the prompt! Write, draw, sing, play music, make playlists, do fic recs or show recs or episode recs or book recs, fucking crochet or something! FOLLOW THE VIBE. DO WHAT'S FUN.
Prompts (text):
Emergency First Aid: Self-done stitches / Alcohol as sanitizer / “It's just a scratch, I've had worse.”
Does your insurance cover this?: Car accident / Bystander caretaker / “Eyes open, ambulance is almost here.”
Like a record, baby: Vertigo / Struggling to stand / “Is the room spinning, or is it just me?”
It's every day bro: Chronic pain / Massage / “I'm used to it.”
Stealing my breath (give it back): Wheezing / Light-headed / “I'll count, you just breathe.”
Summer is a curse: Heat Stroke / Panting / “Why don't we… find some shade, quick?”
Accidental Cryotherapy: Falling through a frozen lake / Hypothermia / “Hey, c'mon, you gotta stay awake.”
Put your head on my shoulder: Migraine / Light & Sound Sensitivity / “I can close the curtains…”
White and red handkerchief: Coughing up blood / Can't speak / “You just can't shake that cough, can you?”
Your work is never finished: Forced to work while ill / Workplace emergency / “...sit down, I'm calling HR.”
A minor annoyance: Stuffy nose / Hate to be sick / “I'm fine, I can work.”
It's going down (I'm yelling timber): Building collapse / Trapped under rubble / “I can't move my legs.”
It's just a pebble: Avalanche / Stuck in the mountains / “Well, this wasn't how I thought the hiking trip would go.”
Lay down your sword: Fighting back a cold / Cuddling / “Just let yourself be sick so you can get better.”
I'm going down (you're yelling timber): Passing out / Exhaustion / “I've got you, let's sit down, I've got you.”
Say goodbye to filters: Half-conscious / Delirious / “You would never say that in your right mind…”
In hot water: Dangerously high fever / Cool baths / “We have to get that number down somehow.”
I don't see it: Hallucinations / Fever dreams / “It's just a nightmare. You're safe.”
The whump morning after: Tending to injuries / Domestic hurt comfort / “Let's check the bandages, okay?”
It's not fun if you're panicking: Stuck in an elevator / Claustrophobia / “Get me out.”
Where's the exit: Lost / Stuck in the wilderness / “Surely someone will notice we're gone.”
Better out than in: Nervous Stomach / Vomiting / “I got your hair, it's fine.”
Well, that doesn't taste right: Accidentally poisoned / Allergic reaction / “My tongue feels like bees, is that normal?”
Be one with the fish: Drowning / Rescue Breaths / “Why did you think that was a good idea?!”
We didn't start the fire: Severe burns / Running into flames / “I know it hurts. Breathe.”
That's no barn spider: Venomous bite / Arachnophobia / “You'll be okay, we can help.”
What's your name again?: Concussion / Temporary Amnesia / “I don't remember what happened to me.”
Nothing behind the eyes: Fully unconscious / Force feeding / “It's just me, go back to sleep.”
Wrong place, wrong time: Robbery / One of many hostages / “Stay behind me, I can take a hit.”
I don't mean to get emotional: Fear / Breaking point / “I can't stop crying, I'm sorry--”
Only way out is through: Tunnel collapse / Accidental Journey / “We can't just sit here and wait.”
@whumperless-whump-event Prompt 3: Like A Record, Baby!
*Late to the party again, but I"m catching up!
Your ears began to pressurize as the elevator continued to climb. Facing the doors, the satellite dish held neatly in front of you, you didn’t bear witness to the ever-shrinking wasteland through the crumbling walls of the Washington Monument. It was a wonder the elevator was still in the shaft in one piece, nevermind fully functional, working, and clean.
“They really did a decent job on this, huh?”
Charon glanced at you from the corner of his eye, nodding once without offering any comment. That had been his way, as long as you’d known him. You met him in Underworld just a month ago, just a building away from here by some kind of irony, where he’d been an enslaved guard at the Ninth Circle bar. The only way to free him from that abusive predicament had been to take on his contract yourself–but even after you handed him the paperwork, he’d silently stayed by your side, and woe be him if anything hurt you.
Yet, he hardly ever spoke. You could count on both hands the number of sentences he’d uttered since you’d met. Hell, you could probably count on one. His first to you, telling you to take anything up with Azhrukal, his owner. Then the one where he acknowledged that you’d taken over his contract, and politely informed you that he needed to take care of one thing before leaving; then proceeded to blow Azhrukal’s head off with his combat shotgun. The only explanation for that was another single sentence to inform you that Azhrukal was an evil bastard. Since then, he’d proven to be a man of very, very few words–and so it was here, too. You knew he had no reason to like the Brotherhood of Steel, who flashed him nasty looks and threw insults–and who had been rumored to hunt ghouls for sport. But you’d always thrown insults back in his defense, knowing he wouldn’t say anything for himself to them…and besides, the elevator really was impressive in this day and age.
It dinged, and the doors slid open. Charon followed you out, footsteps padding softly behind you like a large cat. It was a wonder he was so quiet with how tall he was.
“Let’s see,” you murmured to yourself, looking over the relay console. “Looks like the wires go in here, and go up there…then hook in there, there, and right in the back.”
“Hmm.” Charon leaned against a wall, watching you work.
“If I deconstruct this, then attach this…shit, this would be easier with a solder gun,” you muttered, pulling the old wires out of the old, shot up dish, and twisting them into place on the new one. “But here we are. Aaaand…there.”
Charon raised his eyebrow muscles when you stood, dragging the new dish over to the hole in the wall. Carefully climbing over the huge pieces of wiring that looped up onto the floor from the outside like great snakes, you balanced precariously, carefully hanging the new dish where the old one had been. When you slowly took your hands away, it stayed in place perfectly, as if it was always meant to be there.
“Perfect!”
That was when it clicked where you were.
Looking down to your right, you saw the tiny wasteland before you. All the trenches and debris looked as small as post-meal crumb patterns on a table. Super mutants that towered over you, and even Charon, crawled about through it like miniature ants. Suddenly, you became very aware that it was a very, very long way down between you and the ground. Staring at the dirt down below, you also came to the realization of what exactly you’d risked by getting into a restored elevator in a half-crumbled many-stories-tall monument.
“Is the room spinning, or is it just me?” you said, half to yourself. Were you getting tunnel vision, or was the ground actually starting to get a little closer?
A strong arm slammed around your waist just as you began to fall over the edge of the wall. Charon carried you back to the relative safety of the solid concrete floor, slung over his arm like a temporarily unused jacket. He set you on your feet again, but the dizziness caught up, and you immediately stumbled into the wall. Bile crawled up your throat as your brain went fuzzy, and the world seemed to spin around you, even with your eyes shut.
“What is wrong with you?” he growled, eyes flitting over you. “You could have died.”
All you could do was stare at him in shock. He’d just spoken to you for the first time in weeks–
“If you get dizzy at heights, it’s irresponsible to then do maintenance work at heights.”
“Hey,” you interrupted. Not that you wanted to–who knew if or when he’d speak again if you did. “I didn’t know. It’s not like I have a lot of climbing opportunities involving that kind of height.”
He simply blinked his foggy eyes at you. “Doesn’t Rivet City have heights?”
“Well, yeah. But those are different. None of them are up as high as this.”
“I see.” You couldn’t explain it, but something in his expression told you that he was filing this information away for later. “Can you walk now?”
“Maybe.”
Pushing off the dirty floor, you tried to stand, but your brain decided that this was the optimal time to remind you of the scope of your current height despite not seeing the ground. Just the thought of the elevator, and how far of a drop it would be if those old cables snapped, was enough to give you jelly legs. You sank back down to the floor. “I guess not. At least not until I can stop thinking about heights.”
In saying this, you’d been prepared to spend the night up here on the roof of the Washington Monument, listening to the newly-restored Galaxy News Radio and sleeping on the mattresses that lay over in the corner next to an emergency lamp. You were not expecting what happened next, when Charon simply scooped you up bridal-style, and began walking towards the elevator as if you weighed nothing.
“Let’s go, then. Won’t get better by sitting up here.”
Tags: Fallout 76 Nuclear Winter, All OC characters. Car accident (mention)/bystander caretaker (sort of)/eyes open, almost there
Warnings: Gunshots, blood, needles (stimpak), death/dying mention. If I missed any, please let me know!
@whumperless-whump-event Prompt 2: Does Your Insurance Cover This?
*Late submission, thought I posted it already and it saved to drafts ;-;
“Don’t you dare die on me.”
Sunny stumbled up the grassy knoll, swaying and sidestepping to avoid the patches that still smoldered in curling ribbons of smoke. Her friend’s limp form slung over her shoulder did naught but unbalance her, but she stubbornly shifted her grip, refusing to drop her despite being wholly unqualified to carry someone like this.
Panting, she reached the crest of the hill. “Look, Sarah. The Responders were here. There’s gotta be something to help. Just hold on–”
Sarah mumbled something incoherent into Sunny’s back. Another rivulet of blood slid down her arm from her friend’s various wounds, and she lunged forward. Sarah was worsening, and there was nothing she’d been able to do about it.
Sunny Ramos and Sarah Gill. The two had been thick as thieves in the vault. The engineer’s daughter and the Overseer’s redhead daughter; where one was causing trouble, the other was never far behind…or far ahead. The last six months in the vault had been the most liberating, yet the most stressful, for the pair. This was when vault security neatly looked the other way on their antics, letting them play all the pranks and cause as much of a ruckus as they’d desired. It had been fun, at first, until they’d realized that they were being allowed to get away with things; and then, of course, all the fun was sapped out. That was until Sarah’s father had passed them a note written in code, asking them specifically to continue causing chaos–because it was making it difficult for ZAX, the vault AI, to cause the problems he’d been causing with his ‘tests’. So, the pair had continued on their tirade of pranks and mischief with a new target in mind, and had dropped firecrackers into toilets until the day their first fellow dweller was found dead, presumably by ZAX’s proverbial hand. Sarah’s father had insisted that they evacuate the vault to escape the AI. A number of other dwellers much preferred ZAX’s plan to find a new Overseer–and president–in a literal trial-by-fire.
Now, here they were on the outskirts of the Morgantown airport, racing to outrun both the latest firestorm, and their bloodthirsty peers. Sunny yelped as a section of brush caught fire. The speeding, hot wind caused the flames to lick several feet over the concrete, tasting her ankles. Only so many materials could catch on fire–but that wasn’t saying much when the wind helped it burn the rest.
“We’re almost there,” Sunny puffed, doing her best to jog towards the airport.
Sarah’s form began to slip off her shoulder again, blood slicking the leather of the vault suit. Skidding to a stop, Sunny shifted her friend, hauling her back up into her arms in a bridal carry.
“Not gonna make it,” Sarah breathed, eyeing the flames of the storm with her glassy gaze.
“You will,” Sunny insisted, blowing a blonde lock out of her eyes.
“Bleedin’ out. Don’t have a stimpak.”
“Look. If this were still pre-war times,” Sunny began, “we’d be waiting for an ambulance. This’d be just like a car wreck. Remember what your dad used to say when we’d get hurt blowing something up? People survived terrible wrecks and horrific things all the time.”
Sarah laughed weakly, her voice fading to a croak. “Gunshots n’ car wrecks are different, Sun.”
“Not when you’re super injured and have to wait for help,” Sunny countered. Her face had gone red from the encroaching heat, which had stayed itself for a moment, and from the strain of her efforts. “C’mon. I bet you would have survived ‘til the ambulance came.”
Carefully lowering Sarah to the ground, she propped her up against the wall beside the airport’s front door and got to work on the lock. The first bobby pin broke, on account of her having looked away for all of five seconds when the windborne flames began to jump the concrete, setting old tents aflame. The second produced a hopeful click, however, and the glass door swung open.
“Thought you were gonna break the door,” Sarah wheezed, grinning wryly.
“I don’t wanna give the storm any more help than it already has.” Once again, Sarah was in her arms, and Sunny sidled through the glass door. She spared just enough time to flip the lock behind her. That wouldn’t stop anyone with the same idea as Sarah, but it would buy time if anyone realized they were inside.
“Where’d those bitches go? I can’t find the trail.”
“I think I see more blood over there.”
“Shit, yeah. Guys, they went this way!”
Sarah and Sunny exchanged wide eyed looks.
“How the fuck did they find us?” Sarah whispered.
“It sounds like they followed the blood.” Sunny held Sarah a little tighter, retreating into the darkened hallways of the airport. “I should’ve been more careful, gone through a river or something.”
“You got me here. Not gonna forget that.”
“You’d better not. You’d better be around to remember it for a damn long time.”
Stairs caught Sunny’s eye, and she quickly ducked down them. Glancing back, she saw that the trail of blood had persisted. At least she hadn’t noticed it near the front door any more than the puddle where Sarah had sat.
The basement was wide and open, with multiple tables that had been repurposed into some sort of lab. The entire place–ceiling, walls, floor–was concrete. Sunny breathed a silent sigh of relief and stumbled to a table. Papers and lab work fluttered and tumbled to the floor as she cleared it with one arm, sliding Sarah onto the table at the same time. They may have been important before, and they might be important to some unknown person in the future, but they didn’t matter in the slightest right now.
“Stimpak, stimpak…” Sunny muttered, sliding open every drawer and opening every cabinet that caught her eye. “Fuck, this is a medical place, you’d think they’d have a goddamn stimpak–”
“Did you try the first aid kit?”
Sure enough, there was a first aid kit near the door, untouched. Sarah chuckled quietly as Sunny vaulted over a table to get to it faster. Ripping it open, she stared inside.
“Dirty water and plastic tubing? Are you fucking kidding me? Who puts that in a first aid kit?”
“Shit,” Sarah laughed. “War never changes, and neither does American healthcare.”
“I’m gonna throw this at you if you make any more bad jokes.”
“And I’m going to throw this at you in about two seconds.”
Both girls jumped, staring towards the door. There stood a boy just a year or two older than them, clad in some bulky armor that didn’t fit him with three rifles strapped to his back. In his hand, he clutched a plasma grenade, thumbing over the pin with an unsettling grin.
“Billy Maddox,” Sunny spat. “Should’ve known you’d get in with the mean crowd.”
“Little old me?” he laughed. “Careful, woman. Remember who’s holding the grenade.”
“Yeah, you,” Sarah retorted. Her voice was all but a whisper now. “After what you did to James’ robot dog last year? I’m surprised he let you run with him.”
“Robot dogs are replaceable,” he shrugged. “So are bitches.”
“You know what they say about guys who feel like they need to posture,” Sarah grumbled. She hissed when Sunny elbowed her in the side.
“Oh? What’s that?” Billy’s thumb grazed the pin with a little more pressure. “Go on, tell me. What do they say?”
Click.
“Really? That’s how you’re gonna play this?”
Sunny stared down the sights of her pistol. “Better than not doing anything.”
“I could yell right now and have the rest of the guys down here in half a second.”
“Then why haven’t you yet?”
The color drained from Billy’s face. “Maybe I want to be merciful.”
“Or maybe they just ditched you.” Sunny elbowed Sarah again for her comment. “What? I’m dyin’ either way.”
“No you’re not!” Sunny hissed. “And I’m not flirting with the reaper like you are, either.”
“Are you ladies done arguing?”
“Maybe. What if we aren’t?”
Billy opened and closed his mouth, lost for words.
“Look.” Sunny shifted the barrel, aiming right between Billy’s eyes. “It’s dog eat dog out here, or however that saying goes. You go your way, and if someone is looking for you, we never saw you.”
“Did you forget that I’m with the guys you’d be saying that to? They’d be looking for me to help me.”
“Did you forget that ZAX wants just one winning candidate?” Sarah spat. “If they find you, they’ll keep you around til your group are the last ones, and then they’ll turn on you.”
His eyes widened as if he hadn’t considered that possibility before, and he stopped tracing the pin button of the grenade. “They…they wouldn’t.”
“Oh, they would.” The barrel of the pistol poised between his eyes didn’t so much as twitch. “They already left you here to clean up the search that they didn’t want to bother with anymore. You’re the disposable one.”
Billy slowly lowered his arm, grip loosening on the grenade. “If I go out there, I’m dead anyway. Storm’s almost surrounded the area.”
“Stay here then,” Sarah managed, coughing as much as her wounds would allow. “Don’t hurt us, we won’t hurt you. We all go our separate ways when the storm’s gone. Easy.”
“But ZAX will know–”
“How will he know?” Sunny countered. “Take your Pip-Boy off, throw it out in the storm, crush it with a bat, something, and how will he know? He’s not a god.”
“It feels like it at times.”
“But he’s not. He’s just some haywire programming. There was even evidence that someone might have been messing with the system and doing those things through him.” Sunny let the pistol drop slightly. “But he’s not out here. We might as well be dead to him. I don’t want to go back to the vault. Sarah doesn’t. Do you?”
“...No.”
“Then being the last one standing still means nothing. Means nothing if you have no vault to oversee, and it means nothing if you never want to go back.”
“I suppose you’re right.” He set the grenade on the nearest table, raising his palms in surrender instead.
“Alright. Stay or go, Maddox. Up to you. But we don’t want to hurt you.”
Overhead, the harsh sound of shattering glass drew their attention as the winds of the firestorm blew in the upstairs windows like a hurricane gale. The loud hum of crackling followed after–the fire spreading to every available flammable surface inside.
“Hey, Maddox, what’s taking so long?”
Billy looked back to Sunny. “They came back–”
“For what, though?” There was no more anger in her voice, softening instead out of pity for him and concern for Sarah, who had become increasingly quiet. “If they think you killed us…”
“I’ll be dead either way,” he finished. “Either they find me up there and finish me off, or they come down here and kill us all.”
“I don’t know if they’ll find the stairs–”
“I did. It wasn’t hard.” Billy was already moving into action, sweeping his dark hair off his forehead as he steeled himself. Reaching into a pocket in his oversized armor, he produced a stimpak, and laid it on the table. “That’s for her. Don’t let her die. I…well, it doesn’t matter now.”
“You–really?” Sunny nearly burst out laughing. “After how you threatened us? You would have killed her yourself.”
“Doesn’t mean I didn’t have a history, once,” he admitted sheepishly. Drawing one of the rifles from his back, he began to back towards the stairs. “And now I see how I was wrong. Just save her. Please. And when you get out of here…”
A more forceful crash resounded from the room above, and the ceiling shook under the heavy telltale thud-thud-thud of someone walking around in power armor.
“Just take care of each other,” he finished, before bolting towards the stairs. His steps slowed as he neared the top, acting as if he hadn’t just rushed out of the basement like a bat out of hell.
Sunny lunged for the stimpak and jabbed it amongst the gunshots in Sarah’s abdomen before Billy ever reached the top of the stairs. Sarah yelped, tensing, but quickly relaxed as the medicine stabilized her wounds.
“Told you you’d make it,” Sunny promised. Sarah smiled back weakly, barely conscious, but began to doze in her newfound physical safety.
A series of gunshots erupted upstairs, followed by the heavy steps of the power-armor-clad dweller evacuating the airport before the flames burned through his suit. In her heart, Sunny knew Billy was gone, but she and Sarah were safe for now, and that mattered most.
She never would have wished for a nuclear winter like this.
welcome to the Whumperless Whump Event of July! for your sickfic, situational, and completely apersonal whump needs--comfort included, of course. follow @whumperless-whump-event for more information and details!
Image transcripts, tagging rules, and guidelines under the cut!
RULES
Any and all art types allowed (GIFs, drawings, music, writing, etc.)
No AI generated content allowed
OCs and Fandom works alike are welcome :)
Trigger and content tags required, even if the prompt explicitly requires the content (eg. Vomiting still needs the emetophobia tag)
NSFT and NSFW are allowed, if tagged appropriately. This blog will not reblog them, as minors do follow it. However, you're still free to write as you please :)
If enough interest is shown, I will make an Ao3 collection (edit: ao3 collection is made and can be found here)
Side note: please let me know if there's anything I can do to make this post or event more accessible. Should I put the image transcripts on the ID too? Is the formatting causing issues? What can I do?
This is not a contest, just an event. The only awards will be announcements for people who completed the whole darn thing. My entries will not receive any announcements or awards, because I'm hosting
TAGGING
Tag with, per example: #whumperless whump event day 1; #whumperless whump event; and (optional) #whumperless whump event day 1: alcohol as a sanitizer
Tag @whumperless-whump-event please! If not, I may not see it or be able to reblog it!
If desired, tag the medium you used
Trigger tag and content warn (including nsfw/nsft)
If posting early, tag with #wwe early entry. If posting late, tag with #wwe late entry. If posting just for fun, no need to tag these!
IMPORTANT:
There are NO OTHER RULES. Do one prompt! Do seven! Do 'em all! Repeat the same prompt six days in a row! Switch them around and do them all out of order! Post them eight months after the event is over! Finish the prompt list early! Write one long-ass story that deals with every prompt or do a one-sentence drabble for each one! Recommend your favorite scenes regarding the prompt! Write, draw, sing, play music, make playlists, do fic recs or show recs or episode recs or book recs, fucking crochet or something! FOLLOW THE VIBE. DO WHAT'S FUN.
Prompts (text):
Emergency First Aid: Self-done stitches / Alcohol as sanitizer / “It's just a scratch, I've had worse.”
Does your insurance cover this?: Car accident / Bystander caretaker / “Eyes open, ambulance is almost here.”
Like a record, baby: Vertigo / Struggling to stand / “Is the room spinning, or is it just me?”
It's every day bro: Chronic pain / Massage / “I'm used to it.”
Stealing my breath (give it back): Wheezing / Light-headed / “I'll count, you just breathe.”
Summer is a curse: Heat Stroke / Panting / “Why don't we… find some shade, quick?”
Accidental Cryotherapy: Falling through a frozen lake / Hypothermia / “Hey, c'mon, you gotta stay awake.”
Put your head on my shoulder: Migraine / Light & Sound Sensitivity / “I can close the curtains…”
White and red handkerchief: Coughing up blood / Can't speak / “You just can't shake that cough, can you?”
Your work is never finished: Forced to work while ill / Workplace emergency / “...sit down, I'm calling HR.”
A minor annoyance: Stuffy nose / Hate to be sick / “I'm fine, I can work.”
It's going down (I'm yelling timber): Building collapse / Trapped under rubble / “I can't move my legs.”
It's just a pebble: Avalanche / Stuck in the mountains / “Well, this wasn't how I thought the hiking trip would go.”
Lay down your sword: Fighting back a cold / Cuddling / “Just let yourself be sick so you can get better.”
I'm going down (you're yelling timber): Passing out / Exhaustion / “I've got you, let's sit down, I've got you.”
Say goodbye to filters: Half-conscious / Delirious / “You would never say that in your right mind…”
In hot water: Dangerously high fever / Cool baths / “We have to get that number down somehow.”
I don't see it: Hallucinations / Fever dreams / “It's just a nightmare. You're safe.”
The whump morning after: Tending to injuries / Domestic hurt comfort / “Let's check the bandages, okay?”
It's not fun if you're panicking: Stuck in an elevator / Claustrophobia / “Get me out.”
Where's the exit: Lost / Stuck in the wilderness / “Surely someone will notice we're gone.”
Better out than in: Nervous Stomach / Vomiting / “I got your hair, it's fine.”
Well, that doesn't taste right: Accidentally poisoned / Allergic reaction / “My tongue feels like bees, is that normal?”
Be one with the fish: Drowning / Rescue Breaths / “Why did you think that was a good idea?!”
We didn't start the fire: Severe burns / Running into flames / “I know it hurts. Breathe.”
That's no barn spider: Venomous bite / Arachnophobia / “You'll be okay, we can help.”
What's your name again?: Concussion / Temporary Amnesia / “I don't remember what happened to me.”
Nothing behind the eyes: Fully unconscious / Force feeding / “It's just me, go back to sleep.”
Wrong place, wrong time: Robbery / One of many hostages / “Stay behind me, I can take a hit.”
I don't mean to get emotional: Fear / Breaking point / “I can't stop crying, I'm sorry--”
Only way out is through: Tunnel collapse / Accidental Journey / “We can't just sit here and wait.”
Tags: Cooper Howard/Reader, preghoul!Cooper, Bombs Drop Day.
Warnings: Self-sutures, alcohol as sanitizer, blood. If I missed any, let me know!
@whumperless-whump-event prompt 1: Emergency First Aid
Terror shredded your throat as you sprinted down the sidewalk of that perfect suburban neighborhood. Green grass, perfectly trimmed hedges, shady trees; all of it passed in a blur. Sprinklers ticked back and forth relentlessly, counting down with every spit of water over the sunlit green. Bees and mosquitoes hummed lazily in slow streams of sunlight, a requiem for all the autumns before.
Your ears ached to bleed with the pure cacophony around you. Tires squealed on the pavement as pastel beetle-shell-shined cars tore out of driveways, as other drivers swerved to avoid them. They yelled at each other from their rolled-down windows, but there was no anger in their voices. Somewhere down the street, a small child in a pink dress screamed and cried, not understanding the chaos that had erupted; just upset that her teddy bear had fallen on the sidewalk when she’d been scooped up and bundled into the family car.
Above it all, the sirens howled. Like angels of steel and gears, they trumpeted the announcement that everyone had feared hearing for years; the true end of days, heralded by nuclear fire.
Attention citizens. Nuclear strike imminent. Please exit the area at your earliest convenience. Thank you for your cooperation.
The announcement rang in your head, repeated by every radio station in every car that zipped past. Yet still you ran, determined to get home before the strike. Was that blood you tasted? Shoving through the garden gate, you raced to the back of your little blue home of the future. Truly, it was; the heavy, lead-lined doors to your backyard bunker sat nestled at its foundation, under landscaping plants whose pruning had been optimistically neglected.
A pained groan came from behind you as you gripped the bunker door handle.
Turning slowly, you half expected to see someone standing there, perhaps beaten by the crowd, ready to ransom you your own bunker. Instead, a bloodied cowboy in gold and blue lay defeated in the hedge, as if he’d been discarded over the fence. Your eyes met his, and he feebly lifted his hands in a show of surrender.
“Just leave me here,” he croaked. “I won’t fault you for that.”
Time froze. You couldn’t just leave him there. But if you tried to save him...was there time? Could you get him to the bunker too? Could you get yourself inside in time after?
The ground shook under your feet, and the backyard vanished in white. Burying your eyes in the crook of your elbow, you prayed you hadn’t gone blind. The impact, the flash…
Dropping the handle, you raced towards where the cowboy had been with your eyes shut. The hedge came up faster than you’d anticipated, and you crashed into it, hands searching for him. A leg, a torso–his hand found yours. Dragging him out of the bush, you pulled him back the way you’d come. Your vision swam with black dots as you blinked, but you just barely made out the shape and color of the bunker door. You guided his hands to the handle.
“Help me get this open!”
Both of you pulled, and it swung open with a creak.
A low rustle began to grow in volume as wind sped towards you.
“I’m sorry,” you shouted over the rising howl.
“For what?”
With a hard shove of your shoulder, you pushed him down into the bunker opening.
The shockwave slammed into you with the force of a speeding truck, sending you flying. Your back cracked against the side of your white picket fence when you landed, and you found yourself unable to move against the tide of air. Debris crashed into your body; most of it dry leaves and dirt, but bits of metal and concrete stung your skin where they hit. It felt like forever, but the shockwave passed in less than a minute.
Through your bleary eyes, an orange mushroom cloud curled over the neighborhood from its downtown epicenter.
Every warning you’d seen in recent years about nuclear safety came back to you. First comes the impact and light, then the shockwave…
Then the fallout.
The pain in your body was only challenged by the fear of the radiation that would surely be falling from the sky any minute. Shoving off the ground, you stumbled towards the bunker, every step a marathon. You’d never felt anything better than the cool metal of the door under your hand.
“You all right?” The cowboy had arrived somewhere in your blinded periphery. His hands guided you by the arm onto the ladder down, a courtesy you hadn’t afforded him. Darkness momentarily clouded your eyes with a heavy thud as he closed the bunker door behind you. Slowly, your eyes adjusted to the bunker, and the small lamp set out on the metal table.
“I’m fine.” Hands out and searching, you felt your way to a sleeping bag you’d left on the thrifted couch that you’d dragged in months ago. You flopped down on it gratefully, still gasping for breath. “I’ve had worse.”
“Well, I’m hard pressed to believe that,” the cowboy countered, sinking onto your couch’s spiritual twin opposite you. “Need some help?”
“No.” You began feeling around under the edge of the couch, trying to ignore the considering gaze you felt burning your skin.
“Stubborn one, ain’t ya?”
“I should be asking you if you’re okay,” you retorted. “Seeing as I threw you into a hole.”
“Short answer? No. But I’m fine.” His tone held a bitterness that warned you not to inquire further, shifting uncomfortably. “Horse bucked me and ran. I’ll miss her.”
Your searching hands finally found the metal case of the first aid kit. The labeled bottles were barely legible through your spotted vision, but you made out that the third one that you held in your hand was Rad-X. Popping one, you held out the bottle, and felt him accept it.
Lost for words, you kept rummaging through the first aid kit. Was it enough to tell someone that you were sorry for their loss when their loss had been blasted out of existence? Probably not. The mournful silence that hung between you said enough.
“Here, let me.” The cowboy took the kit from you, some kind of gentleness in his voice. “What do you need?”
“Med-X.” Now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off, the soreness of the shockwave’s impact was starting to hurt.
His hand returned with the syringe, and you wasted no time in injecting it.
“Thank you.” Your vision was beginning to clear. “Why the Vault-Tec colored cowboy getup?”
“Don’t ask,” he grumbled.
“Kind of ironic, no?”
“No kiddin’.” He tilted his head, regarding you. “Name’s Cooper, by the way. And I may not be an expert, but I think you’re bleedin’.”
“(Y/n).” Following his gaze, you confirmed his suspicions. Blood oozed from your side, seeping down your hip and across the plastic material of the sleeping bag. Untucking your shirt and pulling it up, you discovered that the culprit was a chunk of glass that had buried itself neatly in your skin.
“Well, that’s not good.”
For the first time since you’d met, Cooper laughed. “No, no it’s not. I don’t think you’ll be gettin’ to a hospital any time soon, either.”
You knew he was right. Even if you could wait out the first two weeks of fallout, the likelihood that any hospitals would be standing, much less staffed, was slim. This had been the big one, there was no denying that. Accepting this, you gripped the glass.
“You sure you wanna do that?”
“I don’t have much choice.”
Biting the insides of your cheeks, you pulled. Your grip slipped on the blood, and the glass stayed lodged in your side. Cursing, you gathered a handful of your shirt hem and tried again. This time, it popped free with a noise that could only be described as broken fleshy suction. Just as the noise suggested, uncorked blood gushed forth.
“Here.” Cooper held out a different syringe.
“No.” You waved the stimpak away. “That was expensive. There’s only one.”
“So? You need it.”
“Something worse might happen later.”
Cooper looked between your wound and your face. “You serious?”
“Yes. I might lose a hand or a foot now.”
“I don’t think a stimpak will fix all that.”
“It’ll be better than not having one.”
Shaking his head, he put the stimpak back in the case. “Fine. But let me clean you up.”
“I’m not your responsibility.”
“Do you know how to clean up and fix up wounds, then?”
You looked at the concrete floor. “...No.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“At least walk me through doing it myself. I’ll need to know this stuff.”
Adjusting his hat, Cooper stared at you. “You’re a real stubborn one. Alright.”
“That was fast.” You’d expected him to argue more.
“You’re gonna bleed out otherwise. I’m not above making compromises to prevent a death.”
You flashed him a glare, but he’d already busied himself with sifting through the saddle bags he’d taken off his shoulders. Out of the leather pocket came a few shot bottles of liquor. You couldn’t help but recoil at the sight.
“Oh, hush. You’ve got Med-X in you, you’ll be fine.” Cracking the lid of one, he leaned forward, and poured the contents of the bottle directly in your wound. Despite the branded morphine coursing through your system, you yelped at the sting.
“Deep breaths.” Another bottle splashed its way over your exposed flesh.
“Hurts like a bitch,” you ground out through gritted teeth.
“It’s gonna. But you’ll survive.” Cracking open one of the cans of purified water that you’d kept on the shelving against the wall, he rinsed the liquor from your gash. “Now, do you still wanna do those sutures, or are you gonna buck up and let someone help you?”
With some effort, you leaned forward to take them from his hand, all but snatching them. “Still need to learn for later.”
“It’s a free country,” he ceded, showing you his palms in mock surrender. “Just clean your hands first.”
Using the rest of the water in the can, you washed off the layer of dirt from your hands. Cooper watched you carefully. The blood had slowed to a sluggish drip, but your head swam slightly with the effects of what you’d already lost.
“If you need help, let me know.” He gestured towards the package. “Go ahead and open that up, and get out a needle. Should all be roughly the same. Get one of the smallest eyes.”
Following his lead, you picked the needle he suggested.
“Now the suture.”
Step by step, he walked you through the process with as much sterility as you could manage in your current environment and situation. Threading the needle, looping it in your skin–how to throw the knots. You nearly quailed when you first put the needle through the flesh of your wound, but you soldiered on. Who knew if he’d stick around–and if he did, you were certain it would be a bloodbath between survivors for a while that could take him. Grimacing through the process, you managed to close up your own wound.
“So,” he said, handing you the supplies to bandage your sutured wound, “you sure you’ve had worse?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“Not really.”
You considered telling him about your past a few times during the rest of the evening, but you didn’t, even as you shared a meal of Instamash and Pork n' Beans. The conversation was good, if a bit superficial, neither of you wanting to delve into your past, and you weren’t about to ruin it by going into detail about the accidents or the abuse you’d suffered in the past that made shrapnel small potatoes. Instead, you enjoyed his company until the Med-X and the toll of the day made your eyelids too heavy to keep open, and only then did you allow him to help you crawl into your bloodstained sleeping bag. Through your sleepy haze, you guided him to the blankets in the cupboard, offering assurances that he could borrow them to sleep on the other couch.
When you woke, the nixie lamp clock across the room told you that it was midday, and Cooper was nowhere to be found in your little bunker. Between the pain in your side, and the post-nuclear winds that whipped past outside and rattled the bunker door, you knew there was no chance of finding him, either. Not until the fallout cleared, or until you’d healed. Silently, you promised yourself that if you ever saw him aliveagain, you’d return the favor of caring for a stubborn patient.
