#whumprilday27

[linecrosser]

Whumpril 2025 - Day 27 - Tossing and Turning

Having a sleepless night with bad cramps. Food poisoning? Maybe.

[lostwhump]

@whumpril | Day #27: Tossing and Turning Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984)

[side-shuffling-hyperfixations]

Whumpril Day 27: Prank Gone Wrong

“I’ll never tell you! No matter what you do to me, I-I can’t! I won’t!” Don choked out, teeth abuzz and throat crackling with the fiery current. He couldn’t make out the Triceratons’ demands anymore over the cacophony of sounds and sensations being ripped out of his skull.

Make it stop, it hurts! Master Splinter!

He had no memory of his stasis cuffs deactivating but suddenly his hands were clawing at his scalp of their own accord, scrabbling to pry the helmet away before it could fuse into his skin and melt his brain to goo. Someone seized his wrists, no doubt the guard trying to reactivate the restraints.

“Get off! Get it off!” he howled but the Triceraton was too strong, the grip wouldn’t be shaken. “You can’t make me—!”

“Donatello! Donatello, shh-shh-shhh, it is alright!”

Master Splinter?  

“Help me, help me, please,” Don gasped, hoarse, heaving. The air tasted of his own burnt flesh. “They’ll take everything, they’ll see everything, get them out of my head!”

“You are safe, my son,” Splinter soothed. “You are no longer in that place. You are home. There is nothing on your head.”

“Wha…What?! No, it’s—!” He jerked again, bloodstained fingers clawing uselessly at air as they were once again tugged back. Before he could try again, a paw moved to rest, painstakingly gentle, on the crown of his head.

His bare head, unmarred aside from fresh, stinging scratches and cold rivulets of sweat. It beaded into his eyes, forcing him to blink viciously until the stream of consciousness swam and coalesced into…his lab. Splinter kneeling before him, cupping his face, holding his hand.

And Mikey hovering over them, ashen, appalled, hands shaking around the prank buzzer he had prodded none the wiser against the back of his brother’s neck.

[screengifs]

@whumpril Day 27: TOSSING AND TURNING. Friends, 1994-2004 (The one with the boobies)

[just-a-space-rabbit]

Whumpril Day 27:[Alt] I can’t watch!

Prompt List

One moment you're watching the TV, the next your whole world crumbles as your sweet innocent little bean is plastered all over the news! >:]

old:

[robyn-runestone]

Whumpril Day 27 - Alt: Blood In The Water

Her crew, her husband, her ship was all gone, destroyed and left to sink into the inky depths. Soon, she feared, she would be next.

The water lapped at Plum’s waist as she hid behind the rock. She couldn’t see the monster, but she could sense it lurking nearby. She prayed to Belacus that it couldn’t smell blood, because the cuts and grazes littering her skin could spell her doom.

[isilme-among-the-stars]

Dark Misadventure

Elrond is trapped in the dark for @whumpril Day 27: Prank goes wrong

“No, no, no, no, no….” Elros’s muffled cries reached his ears through the solid wood. “I didn’t mean it. Oh, Elbereth, I didn’t mean it!”

Elrond, trapped in the dark, couldn’t care less what his brother had meant; it was what he had done that mattered. ‘Help me take Maglor’s armour,’ he’d begged Elrond this morning, ‘he can’t ride out tomorrow if he doesn’t have it.’ Elros had promised to hold Elrond’s waist fast while he reached into the great chest to retrieve it, but as Elrond had squirmed, trying to stretch his fingers far enough, Elros had let go and Elrond had tumbled in. Why, oh why, had he agreed?

“Elros,” Elrond called out, alarmed at how squeaky and panicked his voice sounded, “get me out! Get me out, now!”

“I can’t, Elrond!”

“You have to! You have to!” It was getting hard to breathe. His cheek was pressed against the great burlap sack in which Maglor kept his mail, and the hard edges on Maglor’s greaves dug into Elrond’s shins. The smell of oiled metal was overwhelming. “Please, Elros! You have to…”

The latch rattled. “I can’t lift it.”

Scared and furious, Elrond kicked up at the heavy lid which had snapped shut over him a mere moment after his feet cleared the chest’s lip. He could no more budge it than Elros could. There came a thump against the side, and the sound of Elros sobbing. Elrond began to scream. His voice no longer sounded like his own.

Read the rest below the cut, or on A03

“What’s all this noise?” The voice drifted through the dim world as if it were from a dream. The chest’s thick walls softened it, as it softened all things. Metal, chain and burlap no longer felt cold and harsh against his body. He hardly felt his body at all, as if someone had wrapped a thick cloak underneath his skin. He felt curiously content and detached, and wondered if he might be dying. “Where is your brother?” the voice demanded, and he found that dying did not stop him from feeling pity for the poor soul the voice questioned.

Snuffles and sobs were all the answer the voice got. Oh, poor child, he thought, and wondered if the elfling was younger than he. The child certainly sounded to be.

Then, with a loud creak, light burst into the world and he blinked up at a frantic, dark-haired elf who stood staring down at him with concern.

Why is he so worried? he wondered.

“Elrond?” The elf spoke. The voice belonged to him, then. Who was this Elrond he asked after? He blinked again and closed his eyes, the light was hurting them.

“Is he okay?” the elfling asked.

The big elf didn’t answer, only reached down with calloused hands and gripped his shoulders. It felt uncomfortable. It was an intrusion. He tried to bat them away, but the big, dark-haired elf wouldn’t let go. “You’re free, now, Elrond. You’re safe.”

Oh, is that my name? he wondered.

The dark-haired elf—Maglor, he remembered—smelled of horses and green things. Elrond turned to bury his face into Maglor’s chest and wondered why his tunic was wet.

“Hush, it’s alright.” The words fell soft and warm against his ear.

“Are we in trouble?” squeaked the other child—Elros. Elbereth, how had he forgotten?

“No,” replied Maglor in a tone that suggested they probably should be. “You are fortunate I need to replace one of these straps, or else Elrond here could have been trapped all night.”

“Must you go?” Elrond managed between sobs. Had he been sobbing all this time?

“Yes,” Maglor insisted firmly, stroking his hair. “I must. Trade agreements will not secure themselves, my dear, and these bellies need to eat.” At that Maglor poked he and then Elros in the stomach gently. “I shall only be gone a day.”

Elros answered, sounding as miserable as Elrond felt. “If you must.”

“Oh, I have your permission, do I?” Maglor sounded amused. “Thank you, my Lord.”

Even Elrond, fast as his heart was still beating and heavy as his aching body now felt, couldn’t help but laugh.

[justapileofrats]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Some short and simple Wolffe whump, because sometimes you need to not realise you’re hurt, only to collapse into someone’s arms as soon as it’s pointed out

@whumpril