#wwevent day 11

[janetm74fics]

@whumperless-whump-event Day Eleven: Bodily Betrayal: Stomach sick. Thunderbirds, Jeff & John Tracy. 100 words. Warnings for Vomiting.

~

His stomach was cast-iron.

54 years eating his Ma’s cooking meant that nothing turned Jeff’s stomach.

Not USAF rations. Not NASA’s dried food. Not even eight years of Oort Cloud living…

Today his body betrayed him.

His stomach gurgled and Jeff bolted…

He didn’t have time for this! He had a meeting…he wasn’t going to make it… Jeff hit his comm as he ran.

‘Dad?’ ‘John. I have a…problem.’ ‘What kind of problem?’

Jeff didn’t reply but the sound of vomiting said everything.

‘I think it was the shrimp…’ ‘The shrimp Gordon told you not to eat?’ ‘…Shut up, John.’

[triwhumphant]

Whumperless Whump

Day 11: Stomach sick

A League of Nobleman 01x14

[bugs-world22]

Wow look I wrote something! Been trying to participate in this but I’m working a sleepaway camp with like an hour of free time each day and 0 WiFi/cell service so I have a ton of half written stuff that’ll probably come out later!

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

[weird-fics-r-us]

Whumperless Whump - 11

Bodily Betrayal: Stomach sick / Carried to bed / "…Yeah. I can call in sick for you."

@whumperless-whump-event

Love me some whumpee!Jean resisting his caretakers. 💕

Content Warning

Animal Death, Gore, Parasitic Infection

Lil Notes

Parasites AU/Not canon compliant.

Jean curled up on his side, shutting his tightly. Marco made a strange chirping noise, cuddling closer. He shuttered as his whiskers brushed the bare skin of his back and neck. He could feel it squirming around, deep inside his body. It was growing and feeding off of him, using his flesh as shelter.

And it felt like Marco just didn't care.

There was a soft clicking of the cabin door's opening. The harsh winter wind blew in, making Jean shudder. Marco pulled him closer, purring. Jean swallowed thickly to stop himself from trying to purr in response. The parasite wriggled in his neck and throat.

"We're back!" Bertholdt announced.

Jean could feel Marco get up, rushing over to embrace their captors. He winced at the wet sounds of their tongues grooming his head and face.

"We brought dinner." Reiner's words brought a rolling nausea to Jean. He curled up tighter, trying to not be noticed.

"Come on, it's dinner time." Reiner's hot hands gripped Jean's shoulder, shaking him gently. When he didn't respond, Reiner sat him upright.

Jean could only groan as he smelled the organs being cut out of the carcass. As much as it disturbed him, he couldn't stop salivating, the smell making him incredibly hungry. He tried to squirm away, but Reiner held him still. Bertholdt came over with a bowl of raw organs, and some gray gelatinous looking stuff. As soon as the concoction touched his tongue, Jean dug in.

Reiner was stroking his hair, and he couldn't stop himself from eating this raw flesh. It was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted, every cell within him was demanding more. Soon enough, he was full, sitting in Reiner's lap and purring softly as he fell asleep.

[nature-wants-you-dead]

WW Event Day 11: Bodily Betrayal

Warning for a little bit of suicidal ideation in this one.

(@whumperless-whump-event)

Martin, like most guides, had heard of The Fungus before. Most thought it was fake, just a story, or perhaps something that was long gone. 

It was real though, Martin had seen it happen to someone as a young man. It was rare sure, hard to contract, only able to infect under the right conditions, but it was real. And The Fungus was in him, and it was starting to take over. 

It started small, his legs moving in a direction he didn’t want to go, or his head turning to look at something he didn’t want to look at. The Fungus was in him and it would eventually take over his brain and try to infect others. 

The Fungus was an ancient thing and it moved slowly. He wouldn’t be able to infect anyone until the bloom happened. He knew what it would look like and he would deal with it when the time was right. Until then he needed to work. 

Martin started to take more dangerous jobs and tasks, his days were numbered so might as well. He wasn’t going to usher in his death sooner than he had to but if it happened it happened. 

It happened sooner than he expected. Not the fungus taking over, but his death. It wasn’t even a dangerous task. He was just walking  in the mountains as he had for decades. 

He slipped. 

He fell.

Fell hard. 

Landed harder. 

Martin could breathe, barely, but knew it he wasn’t going to be able to for much longer. He couldn’t feel his legs. Only one arm could move. He was dying but so was the Fungus.

Talla was the one who found him, his favorite of the new guides he’d been training. 

“Don’t…touch…infected,” he managed to get out. 

“Martin…” 

“Leave me here,” he whispered. He could tell Talla didn’t fully understand but she didn’t touch and she stayed with him. She was going to be a good guide. 

*****

“He was a good guide, let’s all drink to him,” Old Cotton said. 

“So I heard a Greenie had a hard time on Grey’s Peak, was that you Nate?”

“Ha ha, not me that time,” Nate said. 

“Uh, yeah that was me.”

[tired-of-being-nice]

can't stop, won't stop

@whumperless-whump-event day 11: overworking! sliding in right under the wire in my timezone but i couldn't not write something for this prompt, c'mon

early days coren! like... very early. probably around the same time as this or this! i have a bit of a theme going apparently, haha

cws: light brainwashing (implied/in internal narration), more evil capitalism thoughts (Are You Picking Up A Theme), one brief mention of injury, sort of... self-gaslighting?

It's a little past one in the morning, and Coren has just scared off it's third curfew-breaker of the night and is feeling pretty good about itself, when it stops to take a break for a moment and realizes its legs are wobbly.

Once they've noticed, it's like they can't stop noticing. Their shoulders ache, their head hurts, their arms feel too heavy to lift; their whole body seems to be protesting any more movement. They cling to the ledge of the roof they're on and wait for it to pass, but it doesn't. It gets worse, if anything. Their legs are shaking so badly they feel like they might fall over.

They slowly lower themself to the floor. Maybe they can lie down, just for a little bit. They're doing such a good job, after all, and they haven't had an off day in...

In...

They haven't had an off day since they started working here. Which was...

They can't remember that either. Maybe they're more tired than they think. Or maybe they've always had a bad memory. That sounds comfortingly plausible. Coren decides to believe that.

Come to think of it, Coren's not sure where it got the idea of 'off days' from. That sounds weird. And dangerous to think about. And it's making their headache worse. They decide not to worry about it.

A break was a silly idea, it decides, forcing itself back to its feet. (They will discover, later that night, that their soles are red and painful, rubbed raw from running.) It doesn't need time to think. Thinking leads to confusion and pain and fuzzy memories. What it needs is to keep moving. The dangerous thoughts can't hurt it if it keeps moving, no matter what its body thinks.

taglist: @whumpsoda@snakebites-and-ink@cepheusgalaxy@silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @whatwhump

[kninewarrior-whump]

It Was Always Burning

@whumperless-whump-event day 11: wide scale fire

Cw: major injury and woundcare, field medicine and medwhump, uncontrolled fire / evacuation, wildfire

Caretaker screwed his eyes shut, pressing his face into Whumpee’s hair. He was unable to fight the lump in his throat any longer, releasing his emotions with sobs while trying to keep talking to Whumpee.

Whumpee looked so distant. His unblinking, half-lidded gaze alarmingly blank, his breathing more and more labored. Each gasp he took heaved his whole chest; blood dripped from his mouth.

Caretaker clung to Whumpee, trying to extend these moments that were left. He regretted not being open with Whumpee before. He regretted so nonchalantly letting him go on this mission. Not that Caretaker had any say on when or where Whumpee deployed.

“It’s gonna be okay man, you’re good… you’re good.” Caretaker kept repeating, rubbing Whumpee’s back. He knew this wasn’t true. He saw leader’s face, who was still pulling out staples and packing saline-soaked gauze into Whumpee’s body. Leader was normally calm and stoic; she had things under control, always. Not this time.

“Leader!!” Two of the Unit members were shouting and running up the hill toward where Whumpee laid on the ground. Caretaker realized the two hadn’t rejoined the group since escaping the building.

One of them carried a hard case. The other carried a canvas bag on each shoulder. Both of them were covered in soot and out of breath, their clothes singed and disheveled.

“Oh, thank goodness.” Leader breathed a sigh of relief as they landed to kneeling next to her.

Caretaker found himself silently shuffled out of the way as the team got to work. One of the soldiers took Whumpee’s head, laying him flat in the grass, forcing Caretaker to let Whumpee go. The other soldier opposite the first, skillfully removed the old snapped tubing from Whumpee’s arm.

The hard case was thrown open to reveal a military style portable ventilator. More of the unit surrounded Whumpee in a practiced choreography. Caretaker wasn’t able to understand half of what they were saying; Leader delegating the situation while still continuing to stabilize Whumpee’s wound.

Caretaker picked up his bloodied cloak that had been tossed to the side and took a step back, clinging to the fabric and watching helplessly.

Whumpee’s head was pulled back by the jaw, his eyes now closed. His expression looked soft; his eyebrows arched docilely over sunken eyes, no longer furrowed and pain stricken. His body remained limp while a breathing tube was placed through Whumpee’s airway.

Caretaker winced as the team manipulated Whumpee’s body, needing to avert his view.

He felt increasingly in the way and useless. Caretaker gripped his soaked cape, staring at Whumpee’s blood on his hands. If Leader and her Unit weren’t here with their experience and knowledge, if Caretaker was alone with his crude on-the-fly solutions, Whumpee would already be dead.

Why did Leader recruit him for this? Was it out of pity? He was clearly over his head and sick to his stomach watching what was being done to Whumpee.

He turned away as the team shouted, hitting the portable ventilator in desperate attempts to get it to work.

Caretaker had no idea how much time had passed. He had buried his face in his hands, the bloody cape in his lap while sitting in the grass a ways away from the commotion.

He felt arms wrap around his shoulders. Caretaker looked up, Leader embracing him tight.

“Caretaker. I can never thank you enough.” She said genuinely.

Caretaker sniffed. “W-what?” He stammered.

“You found him, you got Whumpee out. We couldn’t have rescued him without you.” Leader softly let Caretaker go.

Caretaker looked back to Whumpee, who was now covered in a foil survival blanket and breathing regularly thanks to the field ventilator the Unit managed to get functional at last. They’d also managed to break the locking mechanism to the cuffs, and Whumpee looked much more comfortable. For now they could take a moment to breathe.

Leader took Caretaker’s hand, motioning for him to follow her. She took the soaked cape from Caretaker’s lap, folding it carefully into one of the bags they had emptied and slinging the bag over her own arm. She walked him back over to Whumpee, who looked peacefully asleep now.

“Listen, Caretaker.” She started, kneeling by Whumpee and pulling the foil blanket further over his clavicle.

“We need to get out of here, and quickly.” She looked back at the blazing building, embers now flying dangerously closer. Sirens were blaring. The night sky glowed ominously.

“This,” She placed a hand on the portable vent attached to Whumpee. “Will work for about ten hours before the battery dies. We don’t have a way to get Whumpee back to camp.” Leader looked down solemnly at Whumpee, reaching to hold his hand.

Caretaker could sense that Leader had maybe realized her initial plan was ill-prepared for a situation in which Whumpee was this poorly. Caretaker realized that nobody thought of Whumpee in a way where he’d be incapacitated this badly.

“I am asking you to carry him.” Leader stroked Whumpee’s arm. “You’re going to be the one who’s able to carry him that far. Are you willing to do that?” She looked to Caretaker. Her steady, calm stoicism had leveled out again, bringing Caretaker some reassurance.

“Please.” Caretaker choked, looking at Whumpee. He felt almost afraid to touch him now. He looked so fragile.

The group instinctively ducked as the ground shook, a secondary explosion rippling through the compound. Leader stood up, ordering the Unit to gather what they had, different supplies strewn around the clearing in the chaos.

Caretaker was terrified to lift Whumpee. Whumpee was still covered in blood and dirt, his face dark and his hair and tail stained a horrible, bright red. His leg and hand had been wrapped tightly in makeshift splits. Caretaker found himself frozen with a hand placed over Whumpee’s chest, anxiety making his heart race.

Leader returned with one of the satchels, looping it around Caretaker’s shoulder. She placed the ventilator in the bag and snapped the flap shut.

“Okay.” She nodded with a hand to Caretaker’s back. “We need to go, right now.”

Smoke was now seeping uphill.

Caretaker gently pushed his arms under Whumpee’s shoulders and knees, lifting him from the ground to Caretaker’s chest. He adjusted the blanket around Whumpee, making sure he was wrapped tightly.

“I got you, Whumpee.” He nodded, cradling Whumpee securely as he followed leader away from the creeping embers and smoke.

[wyvchard]

Whumperless Whump Event Day 11

Prompts for today: CAN'T STOP WON'T STOP: Overworking / No time to rest / “We're not safe yet.”

Prompt/s used: CAN'T STOP WON'T STOP / Overworking / No time to rest / “We're not safe yet.”

Content Warnings: Traumatic past, overworking, mental breakdown

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Agent, that's enough." Reginald sighed as he looked at his agent stare at the emptied pen. "You'd... done enough. Please, just stop this. You're only hurting yourself."

They only lowered their head as they tried to stop a pained scoff. "I don't think I do have time to rest. There's no time to rest."

"And why is that?"

"We're not safe yet." He held a hand over their lips as they leaned on the cover. "Please, just hold on and stay quiet."

"... No reason at all." They held their pen to examine the ink and tried scribbling on a piece of scratch paper.

They sighed, tossing it into the trash before uncapping a new one. "Can't stop. Won't stop. Zoraxis schemes will always be going on." They tested it out before continuing on their work. "Don't overthink it, Sir."