Hello! Iām Megan, Iām 27, a biological female (as in actually born female), and I love writing and pretty much all kinds of whump (but for me personally, whump is both hurt AND comfort; hurt is great and I love it, donāt get me wrong, but I just melt when it comes to comfort; a caretaker protecting/rescuing/watching over/taking care of a whumpee?? Ugghhhh!!! Thereās nothing more pure than that š„ŗā¤ļø)
Hello! This is your admin Megan, and hereās just a bit of background info about me. (Side note: Iām very new to Tumblr and Iām still figuring out how to use it š¤£). Right now, at the time of this post, Iām 24 years old and I have been struggling with some severe chronic illnesses since I was around 16 years old. I am mostly bed-ridden due to this absolutely debilitating fatigue/exhaustion (it is a result of a condition I have that is known medically as ME/CFS/myalgic encephalomyelitis/chronic fatigue syndrome), but when I /am/ able to be awake and I have the physical and mental energy to pull it off, I love writing (I am actually in the process of creating a book š ), I enjoy playing World of Warcraft as well as some other games, watching movies/TV/YouTube with my friends online (usually over discord voice chat), and honestly probably a lot more that I canāt think of right now (š). I believe that my love of whump stems from three main things: my subconscious desire to be taken care of whenever Iām /really/ struggling (whether it be emotionally, mentally, or physically), my desire to love and protect my favorite fictional characters, and my need to express myself through my writing/characters. While Iāve been nearly bed-ridden for the last seven-ish years, I was also born with severe GAD (generalized anxiety disorder) and OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder), so I have struggled with different types of chronic illness my entire life. (Side note: I have a lot of other medical shit aside from the CFS, GAD, and OCD but itās the CFS that keeps me from being up and out of bed). I have good days and bad days (this past month or so itās been more bad days than good) because my symptoms are always changing/trading places with each other and fluctuating in severity (I also tend to develop new symptoms at random times). In order to get myself through each and every day, I tend to use my writing/love of whump as a coping mechanism (like many other people š). Itās nice to meet you all and I hope you like my prompts! Feel free to use them to your liking. ALL I ASK IS FOR YOU TO PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE give me credit if you put them online somewhere. Iām sure many of you writers out there know how much time and effort goes into all aspects of writing/editing and I would really appreciate not having my original work being taken. Really as long as people arenāt taking it and saying that itās theirs, I donāt have an issue with it being used, BUT I DO appreciate getting tagged/credited if possible š ā¤ļøthank you š„°
A Danny Phantom edit I just made! I haven't edited in like 6 months so Im a bit out of practice but yeah šhe was my childhood and after rewatching the show, I knew I just had to make an edit of him so....yeah šalso, sorry for the black bars on the edge. Cropping these videos properly is extremely difficult for me apparently šif anyone has any tips on how to fix that theyād be greatly appreciated!
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Fandom: Danny Phantom
Music: It Doesnāt Get Better by Citizen Soldier
Captainās log, Stardate 3315.3. First Officer Spock in command. An acute ion storm impedes search and rescue operations succeeding the Captainās disappearance. Communication systems have been damaged, inhibiting all contact with Starfleet, so we must proceed alone and with great caution. Shipās sensors, while having suffered malfunctions since the onset of the storm, have managed to locate the Captain and indicate he is being held on the planetās surface. I will be beaming down to his coordinates momentarily with two security guards and Doctor McCoyāshould we need his expertiseābut we must make haste if we are to carry out this mission before the storm induces further complications.
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Spock would be lying to himself if he said that the sight that greeted him upon entering the Captainās cell didnāt set off rolling waves of dread in the pit of his stomach, the admittedly familiar yet unwelcome burn of emotion rapidly melting his mental wallsāsturdy, normally impenetrable wallsāthe moment he laid eyes on his commanding officer. His Vulcan half had put these walls up to prevent his human half from overwhelming him with dangerous feelings, feelings like dread that threatened the laws of logic and overrode his ability to focus on what needed to be done to achieve the best possible outcome in any given situation, but they were doing little to protect him now.
He found that this always happened in situations that involved the Captain. If there was one thing Spock knew more than anything else, it was that in all of the experiences heād had throughout his life, nobody had more control over his human half than James T. Kirk. For reasons unbeknownst to him, the Captain possessed the aptitude to awaken more emotion in him than any other being heād met. It was confusingāillogicalāyet it remained true, especially when the Captainās life was in danger.
He didnāt understand itāhe wasnāt sure he ever wouldāsimply because it was not logical, but that didnāt mean it wasnāt a fact, a fact that the Captain meant something to him, something special that far exceeded the capabilities of explanation.
Sometimes, it was rather enjoyable, this bond he and the Captain seemed to share. It allowed them to experience moments so wonderful that, even with Spockās Vulcan upbringing, stirred up feelings like joy and comfort and made him feel at home, made him feel like he had a place in a world where he was usually forced to choose between Vulcan and human. Other times, this bond stung so badly that he wanted nothing more than to sever it completely, shove every damned feeling away, hide them all in the deepest, darkest corners of himself so he never had to feel them again. Right now was one of those āother timesā, and yet, he found that he couldnāt break the bond. Heād tried to beforeāmany times, in factāand failed, which left him with a single, undeniable truth: he and the Captain were tethered to each other by forces that exceeded their understanding of the universe and life itself, and he was powerless to stop it.
It had been eight minutes since he and the rest of the rescue team had materialized on the planet, six minutes since theyād found themselves in the confines of an old, abandoned building, three minutes since theyād located the Captain, and two and a half minutes since Spock had realized how difficult it was for him to see the Captain in such a horrible condition, and the longer he observed him, the harder it became. Seeing him chained to a metal chair, unmoving, with shackles binding himāthe only thing keeping him from falling to the floorāinduced a sense of panic within him, something he foundā¦.unwelcome. But even worse, the Captainās head hung forward, so far forward that Spock couldnāt see his face, couldnāt see if he was consciousāaliveāor not, and it frightened him. Greatly.
What he could see, however, frightened him even more. There was a splatter of black sludge at the Captainās feet, a black sludge of unknown origin. The size of the splatter wasnāt too big but big enough to raise concern. What was it? Where had it come from? Spock had no knowledge of anything like it, and that only added to his distress, like throwing gasoline on a fire, because there was very little he couldnāt explain, very little he couldnāt figure out.
But what was more concerning than that, and perhaps his biggest concern of all, was the large, bleeding bite mark on the side of the Captainās neck.
The wound, from what Spock could tell at this distance, was oozing a reddish-purple substance. It resembled blood, aside from its unusual violet tintāalso concerning. Logically, the only thing it couldāve been was blood, but if it was blood, why was it tinged purple?
At present, there were no answers to any of this. He found that unnerving.
āCaptain!ā Doctor McCoy suddenly shouted, pulling Spock out of his thoughts.
The man tore away from Spockās side and rushed over to the Captain. When he reached him, he dropped to one knee beside him and grabbed ahold of his shoulders, ducking his head down in an effort to gain view of his face.
āJim,ā he said, carefully pushing him upright against the back of the chair.
Jimās head lolled to the side and Spock caught sight of the streak of black sludge staining his chin. It was the same black sludge on the floor, an indication that the contents of the puddle had come from his mouth.
The Doctor seemed to pause for a moment, eyeing the bite marks, before repeating the Captainās name.
āJim.ā The Captain remained still, a sign that he was, in fact, unconscious. āCome on, Jim. Wake up for me.ā McCoy was doing everything he could to rouse him, shaking him gently, patting his cheeks, calling out to him, refusing to give up on trying despite receiving no response. āJim.ā
Spock, on the other hand, watched it all unfold with a deep sense of hopelessness, logic whispering in his ear the whole time, telling him that there was nothing they could do to wake the Captain with how serious his condition was. At the thought, fear started to gather as a lump, and a taste of bile, in the back of his throat. His heart pounded heavily against his ribcage. The Captainās silence was unsettlingādeafening. It was most unlike him to be this quiet, this still.
Spock didnāt quite understand what had happened in the time that theyād been apart, but he didnāt need a Vulcanās logic-based mindset to know that it had been bad.
After a moment, McCoy removed a hand from Jimās shoulder and reached into his med pack, retrieving the mini, handheld medical scanner and running it over him. The device whirred to life as it did its job.
āItās not good, Spock,ā he told the Vulcan once the scan was finished, turning his head to meet Spockās gaze with his own.
Spock didnāt miss how lines of worry riddled the Doctorās face, a testament to how critical a state Jimās health was in.
McCoy gestured to the shackles. āHelp me get him out of these damned things.ā
Spock swallowed in an attempt to dislodge the lumpāand wash away the bileābefore moving forward to assist the Doctor, anxiety gnawing at his heart and thrusting it into an abnormally rapid rhythm as he drew closer.
āHis condition, Doctor?ā he inquired as he started to undo the cuffs, his voice remaining level despite the emotions battling deep inside, each one fighting for dominance over the others whilst his Vulcan half continued to shrink, the flame of logic dwindling more and more against the flood of emotion.
āHeās severely hypothermic. Weāve got to get him back to the ship. Thereās not much I can do for him down here,ā McCoy replied. āAnd I donāt know what kind of savagery these bite marks were born of but they look infected. I-ā
McCoy broke off as Jim groaned softly, rolling his head around a bit.
āJim?ā the Doctor said, squeezing Jimās shoulder lightly.
āCaptain?ā Spock asked.
In an uncharacteristic display of raw, human emotionādesperate for a response, or any sign that his captain, his best friend, was okayāthe Vulcan laid a hand on Jimās forearm, eager to see him open his eyes. His inner voice scolded him for allowing himself to feel this way, for allowing feelings to dictate his actions, for allowing himself to abandon all logic for the sake of easing his panicāa panic he shouldāve been able to controlābut continued to study Jimās face anyway, silently begging him to open his eyes.
Jim groaned again, his eyelids fluttering just the slightest bit and giving Spock a small sense of relief.
āJim,ā McCoy called to him again.
Jimās eyelids finally peeled apart, revealing radiant purple irises. Spock had never seen anything like them, not in a human.
āJim, can you hear me?ā McCoyās words were saturated in desperation, the same desperation dominating Spockās gut.
A flash of recognition passed over Jimās facial features, but it took him much longer than expected to actually focus on the two of them. His eye movements were sluggish, like consciousness was just barely surfacing, his eyebrows ever so slowly pulling together as if coherency was a confusing concept.
āBānesā¦?ā he croaked. His throat sounded raw, his voice gravelly. āSp-Spāckā¦?ā A half smile tugged at his lips, the corner of his mouth pulling up. āKnew you g-guysādā¦c-comeā¦.fārā¦ā His words faded into silence as his eyelids drifted shut again.
It was then that Spock succeeded in removing the cuffs, breaking the Captain free, but without them to hold him, and with consciousness abandoning him, he slumped forward. Both Spock and McCoy instinctively positioned themselves to catch him before he could hit the floor.
āJim!ā McCoy yelled.
Jim fell right into their arms, his head crashing into Spockās shoulder.
The Doctor, after ensuring that Jim was secure between the two of them, shifted just enough to run the medical scanner over him againāa force of habit for whenever there was any change in his patientās conditionābefore making eye contact with Spock. āWe need to get him up to the ship. Now!ā
As if to emphasize the seriousness of his words, a powerful shudder rippled through the Captain, causing him to let out a pained groan, then he started coughing violently. More of that black sludge bubbled up in his mouth and spilled down over his chināconfirmation of Spockās suspicions.
Without hesitation, Spock grabbed his communicator and flipped it open. āSpock to Enterprise.ā
āScott here, Mr. Spock. Have ya found the Captain?ā
āIndeed, but he is in dire need of medical intervention. It is imperative that we are beamed up immediately.ā
Captainās log, Stardate unknown. Following a survey mission on Toraxus, I find myself at the mercy of a vicious, alien predator. It has separated me from the landing party and taken me in as its prisoner where I am now held captive at its hideout. While its motives for carrying out such an act remain a mystery, I have no doubts regarding the insurmountable danger I now face. It is a powerful, highly intelligent beingāa wolf-like creature made up entirely of shadow. After sustaining damage during the alienās first attack, my communicator is inoperative, leaving me with no means of contacting the ship, and phaser weapons have proven useless against it, rendering me defenseless. My next course of action: determining whether its hostility is an act of self preservation or an act of war.
āā
Jim sat in the center of the cold, concrete cell with his wrists and ankles cuffed to a metal chair. He didnāt know how many hours heād spent there, shackled to an inanimate object against his will, but he surmised it had been quite a few given that the light shining in from the single, barred window in the corner of the room had gone from bright and vibrant to dull and dim. The alien had just approached him for the first time since taking him prisoner, and as he got a good look at it from this new, up-close proximityāhe hadn't the opportunity to truly observe it until nowāhe immediately took note of its neon purple irisesāa stark contrast to the surrounding darknessāand the way itās shadowed form flickered like a black flameāits outer edges surrounded by a violet hue.
āTo finally meet the belovedĀ CaptainĀ Kirk of the USS Enterprise,ā it began in a low, gravely voice, mockery painting its tone at the mention of Jimās rank, āevokes great satisfaction in me.ā It grinned widely as it slowly advanced toward him. āIāve been studying you, Captain. Your crew is very obedient. To follow your every order without question is quite impressive.ā The alien locked gazes with him, staring him down.
An almost imperceptible shudder ran up and down Jimās spine at the scrutiny, its eyes boring deep into his soul and sending daggers of trepidation through his head. Something about its presence was unsettlingāenough to make him squirmābut its eyes were especially haunting. Looking into them, even his bones felt vulnerable.
āWhy have you brought me here? Who are you?ā Jim asked, shoving down the anxiety beginning to pulse through his veins as the alien drew closer and closer. āIf you know who I amāwhoĀ weĀ areāthen you must know our mission is one of peace. We mean you no harm.ā
What sparked Jimās curiosity was why the alien had been observing him and his crew. For what purpose would it have done such a thing?
Initially, Jim had suspected its reasons for holding him here were simply an act of self defense, but given this new information, he realized its intentions may not be that innocent. But, whatever the case, diplomacyāan offer of friendshipāwas going to be Jimās first course of action until other, more violent methods of escape were proven necessary. Avoiding a fight, or any type of conflict for that matter, was the desired outcome in these situations.
This wasnāt the first time heād been held captive by an unknown entity, and it certainly wouldnāt be the last. He had more than enough practice dealing with imprisonment to know how to proceed, and coming to a mutual understanding almost always came up with better results than jumping straight into combat.
āPeace,ā the alien scoffed, halting when it was just a foot or two away from Jim. Its ears went flat against its head and its lips curled into a snarl, its teeth bared. āI have little interest in what you call āpeaceā,Ā Captain.ā There was a layer of disgust in its voiceāagain, at the mention of his rank. Even the hairs on its back rose up, as if the very concept of peace had caused them to revolt. āMy plans for you are far darker than you understand, if āpeaceā is all you care about.ā
Hostility, Jim noted silently, noticing the abrupt change in the alienās body language. Everything about it suddenly screamed aggression, and it had all been triggered by that one word: peace. But why?
Jim fixed it with a hard glare and lifted his chin, his whole demeanor shifting to defensive. He raised his internal deflector shields in an attempt to mask the uncharacteristic feelings of fear brewing in his gut. It was overwhelming, to the point where it forced him to adjust his position in the chairādesperate to hide it.
āWho are you? What am I doing here?ā he demanded.
The alien started to walk circles around him, like a predator with the desire to intimidate its prey. āSo persistent,Ā Captain.ā It sighed heavily, appearing annoyed, before continuing. āWhile irritating, I must admit that I admire your tenacity. Unfortunately, it will do little to save you.ā It paused for a moment, cackling maniacally. āI go by many names, most of which are beyond your comprehension, so letās spare you the brain cellsāI know you humans need as many as you can getāand have you refer to me as King Zamzill.ā
āāKingā?ā Jim echoed. āIf youāre a king, where are your followers? And your kingdom?ā
That triggered something in Zamzill, so much so that it disrupted his ritual of circling Jim, prompting him to growl and position himself so that he was facing his prisoner again. āMyĀ followersāas you and your feeble mind like to call themāabandoned me the moment they got a glimpse of your crew, jealous of the way you treat yours, claiming theyāre ādeserving of a king like youā, instead of me. Iād offered them everything from food and shelter to planetary conquest, and theyĀ stillĀ abandoned me!ā
That was when Jim understood. Jealousy was the motivator here. That changed everything. Jealousy was one of the most destructive emotions, outmatched only by fear. He had to tread carefully if he was to solve this with words, and even then he still might fail.
āBeing a king extends far beyond supplying your subjects with basic survival needs and displays of power, Zamzill,ā Jim responded gently, his voice quiet so as not to further aggravate his captor.
āWhat wouldĀ youĀ know? You dare challenge my methods? I am far more qualified than you! IfĀ youĀ can be aĀ captain,Ā IĀ can be aĀ king!ā Zamzill snarled, spittle spewing from his mouth and landing on the Captainās face as he surged forward, their noses only inches apart.
Jim flinched and pulled away as much as he couldāhis shields shattering into piecesāas Zamzillās breaths brushed against his neck. Panic flooded his chest, its icy tendrils branching out into his limbs and latching onto his muscles.
This reaction was unusual for himāfrustrating, if he was being honest. He wasnāt one to act out of panic so he didnāt quite understand why it was happening now, and why he couldnāt seem to control it. Heād experienced the emotion, of course, but to react so greatly because of it was abnormal. Normally he could rein it in, suppress it enough to where it didnāt affect his ability to make decisions, but todayāright nowāit was different.
The fury within Zamzill suddenly melted, his eyes glistening gleefully. āFrightened,Ā Captain?ā he whispered. āYouĀ should be.ā
Jim swallowed nervouslyāmore chills crawling up and down his backāand made an effort to conceal his emotions with a question. āWhat do you want from me?ā
Zamzill smirked. āI want you to scream.ā
In one swift motion, Zamzillās jaws clamped down on Jimās neck, his fangs sinking into Jim's flesh.
Jim squeezed his eyes shut tight and gritted his teeth as a sharp stinging sensation erupted from the location of the bite. It was soon followed by a burning pain that pulsed through his bloodstream with each beat of his heart, spreading like a wildfire until every nerve in his body lit up like a Christmas treeāit was almost like they were screaming for help, help he couldnāt provide.
He let out a low groan, balling his hands into fists in an effort to ride out the agonyāmaybe it would pass if he just held on a little longerābut he was unfamiliar with this kind of agony and thus uncertain if he could fight through it.
To his dismay, the torment not only persisted but continued to increase in severity, every inch of himāfrom his head to the tips of his toesāshrieking,Ā āDanger! Danger!ā
After a few moments, Zamzill released himāthe pain only subsiding the slightest bitāand backed up a few steps. āI suggest you pick a god and pray. Your fate is in its hands now.ā He giggled like a school girl, seeming either delighted with himself or clinically insane. āYou will either die or become my servant, neither of which will be pleasantāfor you, at least. Past observations of this transformation have led me to the conclusion that death would be merciful, too merciful for what you have done.ā
Jim peeled his eyelids apartāthey were heavy, almost inoperableāonly to find that his vision was blurry, the alien before him little more than a fuzzy blob.
What transformation? he wondered.
A clever response sat on the tip of his tongue, but when he spoke, he discovered that forming words was an arduous task.
āWhatā¦?ā he asked, but that was all he could manage.
Not only was speech difficult, but many of his thoughts were distorted, disintegrating before they could even form. A profound fatigue was setting in, wrapping itself around his brain, enshrouding it in a thick, unshakable fog. His limbs were turning into lead, too, and his whole body was starting to go limp. He surmised that unconsciousness wasnāt far behind.
As if to confirm his suspicions, his head started to loll forward, hanging from a floppy, unstable neck. He tried to pull it back up, but his muscles wouldnāt respond.
Zamzillās bite must have done something to him.
āWhatā¦?ā he repeated.
He sought information, desired answers, but he was just so tired. Maintaining consciousness suddenly required a tremendous amount of energy, energy he no longer possessed. It wouldnāt be much longer before he slipped under.
āYou see,Ā Captain, my species possesses a powerāan incredible powerāthat allows us to transform our victims into beings like us,ā Zamzill explained. āBut it does have its flaws. It doesnāt always work as intended. Youāll either become one of us, succumb to the poison, or fall into an eternal madness that will force those closest to you to put you down. Whatever comes first. The outcome is highly dependent on how your delicate human body responds to the changes and whether it can withstand them.ā
Zamzill grinned at him, though Jim could hardly tell with the rapid decline of his eyesight. āCan you feel it,Ā Captain? Can you feel the pain? Thatās your body physically changing shape. Itās quite remarkable, if you ask me. Unfortunately, I have my doubts about your survivalāthey are significantābut perhaps youāll surprise me. We will know in just a few moments.ā He studied Jim for a second, still grinning. āI have to say, regardless of the results, I am delighted to have had this opportunity. I never couldāve imagined Iād have the chance to test our bite on a human, let alone one as excitingāand stubbornāas you.ā
Jim, to the best of his ability, glanced up at Zamzill with half-open, glazed over eyes and, through shallow, labored breaths, replied, āM-My crewā¦ās safeā¦..āsā¦all that mattersā¦ā
āYourĀ precious crew,ā Zamzill spat. āYour love for them is something I will never understand. At the first sign of trouble, theyĀ abandonedĀ you.ā
Jim suddenly laughed, a bit hysterically.
If only you knew who you were talking about, he thought.
Zamzill seemed to ignore his outburst, continuing on. āSure, they obeyed your ordersāstill an impressive feat, by the wayābut they werenāt there for you when you needed them most.ā
āN-Neither wasā¦yours,ā Jim shot back weakly. He was rather surprised by how well he was keeping up with the conversation given that he was barely clinging to consciousnessāand his earlier struggle to form words.
āAh, but the difference is youĀ careĀ for yours.ā
āM-Maybe thatās wh-why yours left. A kingā¦must appreciate hisā¦.subjects. Iā¦ap-appreciate my crew everyā¦.d-dayā¦ā Jim smiled dopily at the thought of them.
Theyād be back for him. He knew them inside and out, and it didnāt matter what situation they were in or if their own lives were at stake. Theyād come for him. And he would always come for them, too, because they werenāt just a crew, they were a family, and family never left each other behind. He just hoped they would follow proper protocol and alert Starfleet first, so as not to put themselves at risk without backup.
That was when something else occurred to him, even in the depths of his fatigue-addled mind. āYouā¦realize youāveā¦.committed anā¦..act of war? The Federation-ā
āYourĀ FederationĀ does notĀ scareĀ me,Ā Captain!ā Zamzill interrupted with a harsh growl, the sound reverberating within Jimās skull.
The corner of Jimās mouth turned up in a half smile. āG-Good. Our goal isā¦peaceā¦.n-not terror. Iām-ā
A violent gag cut Jim off mid-sentence. Several more followed in rapid succession, resulting in the expulsion of a thick, black goop. It poured out of his mouth and onto the concrete flooring, narrowly avoiding his lap.
āHowā¦unfortunate,ā Zamzill said, shaking his head.
Jim gasped for air in between heaves, wheezing harshly with each inhale. He couldnāt seem to get a deep breath, no matter how hard he triedāresupplying his lungs with oxygen proving to be a damn near impossible feat.
Zamzill eyed him closely. āFailure, as expected.ā His tone was saturated in disappointment. āIt always begins with pain and drowsiness, but once the vomiting sets in, thatās when you know itās over. Your bodyās rejecting the transformation, but it is unknown what will kill you first: the poison or your crew.ā
Jim met Zamzillās gaze, but his words were lost on him. The vomiting had ceased, but he was so dizzy that the entire room was spinning, colors and shapes bleeding into each other. His heart beat pounded heavily in his ears, quickly overtaking every other sound, and he knew he was passing out.
āGoodbye,Ā Captain.ā Zamzill then vanished into thin air, leaving Jim to sufferāto dieāalone.
Seconds before he fell into unconsciousness, Jim was sure he heard the familiar hum of transporter beams and the panicked voice of Doctor McCoy.
McCoy breathed a sigh of relief as he finished running the tricorder over Jim again, more than happy with the results. Only six minutes had passed since he'd given him the opramozine and the readings were extraordinary. His vitals were stabilizing at a fairly rapid pace, most notably his temperature and his breathing. The fever was already close to breaking (it was now at 102, the lowest it had been, and continuing to drop with each minute that went by), and his inhales and exhales weren't labored anymore, nor did they came with a wheeze, gasp, or gurgling noise. His blood pressure and heart rate had mostly returned to normal, too, still slightly off but definitely improving. It was all very promising, and an indication that the medicine was curing him.
In the back of his mind, the Doctor realized that the improvement in Jim's breathing could also be due to the tri-ox compound, but because everything else was getting better too, he had a good feeling it was the opramozine doing its' job. It made him want to jump up and down with joy, but at the same time, he didn't want to get too excited yet, afraid that if he did, something else bad would happen and the celebration would be for nothing.
False hope, whispered a voice in his head, one that was not his own. At least, he didn't think it was his own, but maybe it was. Either way, it haunted him, doing its' best to convince him that Jim would start declining again. Despite his attempts to ignore it, he couldn't deny that there was still a lingering fear that the Captain wasn't better, that he'd suddenly get worse again, and he was painfully aware that if that did happen, he'd have no way to save him this time.
McCoy shook his head to clear it of all the negativity then glanced up at Spock, who was still cradling the Captain in his arms, holding him protectively, like a mother shielding her infant from any harm that might come to it. It made the Doctor smile, seeing this. It really showed how much Spock cared for Jim. He could deny it all he wanted, but McCoy knew how much Jim meant to him. It was evident not only in the way he was holding him but also in the way he continued to watch him very closely, seeming to study his every breath, as if he would stop breathing if he looked away for even a second. McCoy also noticed how there was a whisper of worry outlining Spock's face, one that would've been undetectable to anyone outside their circle (that circle consisting of himself, Spock, and Jim.)
"He's healing," he told the Vulcan, hoping to ease the remainder of his fears, despite still struggling with some of his own. "I'd like to run a few tests to confirm it, but it looks like he's on the road to recovery. Let's get him back to Sick Bay. I can monitor him better there." McCoy's smile from earlier morphed into a smirk. "Would you do the honors, since you're already cuddling him and all?" He gestured to the two of them with his free hand as he spoke, his tone playful which implied that he was teasing.
Spock, however, didn't pick up on that and proceeded to respond seriously.
"Cuddling is for humans, Doctor. You have to remember, my actions are purely logical. I have no capacity for such feelings," he said as he got to his feet, taking extra care to ensure that the Captain's head had enough support. It still lolled around a bit with the movement, but Spock made certain it was as stable as it could be by situating it in the crook of his elbow.
If McCoy wasn't mistaken, he'd sounded a little defensive. That meant he'd struck a bone, had hit him right in his insecurities, but the Doctor decided to let it go, just continuing to smirk knowingly and shaking his head, as the two of them made their way toward Sick Bay.
----
Though he made the utmost effort to conceal it, Spock felt helplessly restless as he ever-so-gently laid the Captain down on the nearest biobed, a gnawing desperation to see his friend awake, healthy, happy, and back in command swirling like a black hole in his gut. He realized that it had only been fifteen minutes and thirty two seconds since the Doctor had given Jim the medicine but he wanted him to wake up. The only thing keeping him even remotely sane was the steady rise and fall of Jim's chest. He watched every single breath with eagle eyes, scared that if he looked away he'd miss something important.
After a little while, though, Spock found his gaze wandering to the Captain's face. He drank in each individual feature one by one, captivated by how peaceful he appeared to be (compared to how he'd been) and realized with a soaring heart how much better he was doing, grateful that he was actually looking better, too, not just improving according to medical equipment. His skin had returned to its' normal color, and there were no longer any traces of pain or discomfort. Because of this, he was finally starting to believe that Jim would be okay.
"If you insist on hogging up my air space, make yourself useful," McCoy said quietly from behind him, pulling the Vulcan out of his thoughts. He'd momentarily forgotten he wasn't alone, so lost in his own mind that his surroundings had vanished. He turned his head to the side to see the Doctor handing him a dampened washcloth. At first, this confused him, but after another look at Jim, it clicked. There was still dried blood clinging to the Captain's lips and chin (it was still on his shirt, too, but that would have to be dealt with later with a change of clothes.)
Spock hesitantly took the cloth from him, unconvinced that he was the right one for this job, and began wiping the blood away. Despite feeling awkward about the whole thing, his movements were soft and delicate, like the Captain would disintegrate if he pressed too hard. Thankfully, the blood came off easily, and it didn't leave any streaks for him to have to go back and collect.
"See? You're a natural," the Doctor commented. "Maybe you should pick up a career in medicine. You'd be one hell of a nurse."
"Mmm," Spock hummed, handing back the dirtied washcloth once he was finished. At first glance, the hum came off as disapproving, but in reality, it was a distracted hum. The fluttering of Jim's eyelids had caught his attention.
Just a few seconds later, McCoy noticed it too and moved closer, both men eager to see their best friend regain consciousness.
"Jim?"
----
Jim drifted into a hazy, half asleep, half awake state to hear Doctor McCoy calling out. It sounded like his name, but because the words were muffled by a suffocating darkness that enveloped his entire being, it was difficult to know for sure. He wanted to reach out to it. Maybe if he could grab onto it, grab onto something, it could help pull him out of this void.
Another voice then floated into his ears, this one just the slightest bit closer.
"Captain?"
Spock.
Both voices came from somewhere close by, but they were lost somewhere in the dark, somewhere Jim couldn't quite reach, but he was determined to fight his way to them.
With every bit of strength he had (both mental and physical), Jim willed his arm to move, desperate for some kind of contact, begging for somebody to free him from this endless emptiness. When it did, relief sprouted in his chest. Within seconds of accomplishing this, he felt someone's hand intertwine with his, and suddenly the darkness dissipated, allowing him to peel his eyelids apart. It was difficult, and required a tremendous amount of energy, but they split, revealing eyes that were slightly unfocused but not glazed over anymore, a little glassy still, but from exhaustion rather than illness.
It took a few blinks for Jim to clear his vision from the blurriness of sleep, but once he did, he saw Spock and McCoy to his left, noticing instantly how Spock was the one holding his hand. This gesture was highly unusual for him, suggesting that he was more than relieved to see him awake.
"Weā¦gettin' married?" Jim teased, his signature half smirk tugging at his lips.
Spock cleared his throat and immediately released his hand (and Jim was almost positive there was a flush of embarrassment turning his cheeks green.)
"I'mā¦pleased to see you looking well, Captain," the Vulcan replied, scrambling for the right words.
Jim's smirk grew. He glanced over at McCoy.
McCoy snorted, meeting his gaze.
"Don't let him fool ya, Jim," he said, leaning down a bit to pat Jim on the back a couple times before crossing his arms, eyeing Spock. "That's an understatement. He's been worried sick." The Doctor grinned. "I've lost count of how many times he's come in to check on you these last two days."
Jim continued to smirk while taking a moment to look directly at Spock.
"ā¦love you too, Spock," he croaked softly, blinking sleepily. He fought back an enormous yawn.
"How do you feel, Jim?" McCoy inquired, gripping his shoulder in a caring manner.
"I'mā¦tired, but good. I think," Jim responded, focusing on him again.
"Well, I'm not surprised," McCoy began, releasing his shoulder. "Your body's been through hell." He paused for a moment before continuing, avoiding Jim's gaze and lowering his voice. "You barely made it through this alive."
Jim sensed the sudden heaviness of the Doctor's words. He could almost feel it, like a weighted blanket had been laid out on top of them. He was just surprised by how little he remembered. When he thought back on what had happened, some things were crystal clear, but putting those crystal clear pieces together didn't make sense, which meant there were pieces missing, pieces meant to fill in the gaps.
In an effort to retrieve those pieces, Jim opened his mouth and, with a wince, pushed himself upright, a flurry of questions sitting on his tongue, but McCoy cut him off before they could come out.
"If you're about to ask me what happened, I swear I'll have you hanging from the ceiling by your feet," he threatened, but without any real bite. Jim knew him well enough to know this was simply his way of covering up his fears. It was a testament to how bad his illness had been, how close he'd been to death. "If you cooperate, I'll have you out of here in three days, maybe two if you behave. Now lie down and rest. You need your sleep." McCoy pressed on Jim's shoulders with both hands, trying to lure him into sleep by getting him comfortable.
At first, Jim resisted, but then a huge yawn slipped out and he relented, allowing the Doctor to lay him back down. He really didn't want to sleep, he was itching to get back to the Bridge, but his body was protesting.
"I can see you're feeling better, stubborn pain in my ass," McCoy muttered as he stepped away to meet Christine, who'd just come into the room to give him results for the tests he'd run.
"Captain, I find your reluctance to rest while ill to be highly illogical," Spock said, cocking his head to the side slightly. "You're evidently tired."
Jim smiled, his eyes sparkling with admiration as he glanced over at his first officer.
"That I am, Spock, that I am," he murmured, his eyelids flickering shut as fatigue overwhelmed him. "Alright. Fine. You guysā¦" Jim was cut off by another yawn. "ā¦win," he finished. He was asleep in a matter of seconds.
"Good news, Jim. Your test results just came back and they're-" McCoy started to say as he approached the bed again but immediately broke off when he noticed that the Captain was fast asleep. "Oh, good." He looked to Spock then, whispering, "The virus is almost completely gone. One more dose of the opramozine and he'll be good as new."
"Excellent, Doctor. I shall inform the crew." Spock got to his feet, giving the Captain one last look before making his way toward the exit.
----
True to McCoy's word, Jim was released from Sick Bay after two full days of recovery, or, more accurately, two full days spent cracking jokes and bantering with the Doctor (except during a few very brief naps.) McCoy had pretended like the behavior was driving him up the wall, throwing half-hearted threats at him every time he tried to get out of bed (and the one time he actually did get out of bed), but really he couldn't have been more grateful for it. It was a very welcome change of pace. A sense of normalcy had returned, and it was glorious.
Spock had come to check on Jim a few times too, but now that he was himself again, he had a hard time getting away with it. Jim had called him out on it several times, and his attempts to defend his actions had been quite humorous, leading to Jim and McCoy bursting into laughter more than once.
When the time came for Jim to return to duty, everyone was ecstatic. Uhura even leapt to her feet when he stepped onto the Bridge and assumed command. Seeing him alive and well lifted the crews' spirits, a smile on each of their faces as he took his place in the Captain's chair and threw out orders. It was like he'd never left.
"Steady as she goes, Mister Sulu. Ahead warp factor one."
Jim jolted awake with a gasp as a surge of adrenaline suddenly pulsed through him, his eyelids flying open and his heart rate skyrocketing. Tendrils of anxiety shot through his entire body, first sprouting in his chest before spreading into his limbs, drowning him in panic. He couldnāt for the life of him figure out what exactly was happening, why it was happening, or how to stop it, but he understood that it wasnāt normal. It was honestly quite scary (though he would never say so out loud.)
He thought back on what had occurred in the past 24 hours, sifting through his memory banks, searching for any files that could lead him to an answer, but he couldnāt find much. He had a vague recollection of a mission to Morthoros and delivering medicine, but that was it. Anything after that was fragmented, shattered into bits and pieces, bits and pieces that were much too small to make sense of, and he couldnāt be sure what was part of a memory and what was just a splintered, incoherent thought.
All he really knew for certain was that his body hurt all over. He was also short of breath, lightheaded, dizzy, and he just couldnāt think straight, but he chalked all of these symptoms up to anxiety (not remembering that this exact scenario had played out about a day and a half ago, where heād blamed his ailments on anxiety only for him to find out he was actually sick.)
The Captain, with great difficulty (and a pretty powerful wince), pulled himself into an upright position. The movement clearly didnāt sit right with his body because it caused his vision to blur. Thankfully, though, the blurriness faded after a few moments. Once it did, he instantly recognized the walls of Sick Bay.
Why am I in Sick Bay?
He didnāt know. He surmised that there was a good reason, but that reason was lost on him. It was possible he was in Sick Bay because he was sick (duh), but he didnāt exactly feel sick. Justā¦..off. Uneasy, too.
Somethingās wrong, but what?
Jim scanned his surroundings carefully, looking for anything suspicious, hoping for a clue as to what the hell was going on. He didnāt see anything out of the ordinary, but he just knew something was wrong. He could feel it in his gut.
The Captain very shakily slid out of the biobed, so caught off guard by how unsteady he was on his feet that he had to grab onto the mattress until he could regain his balance. It took a moment, but once he accomplished that, he made his way over to the exit, stumbling the entire way, and proceeded into the hall.
I have to get to the Bridge, see whatās going on.
His most important job and main role as Captain of the Enterprise (aside from seeking out and learning from new life and new civilizations) was maintaining the safety of the ship and itsā crew. If they were in danger, and he wasnāt there to fix it, anything that happened to them would be on him.
Jim only made it a little ways away from Sick Bay before he began to feel weak, his head buzzing and his ears ringing. It was so overwhelming that he had to brace himself against the wall in order to keep himself from collapsing. He was even more lightheaded, dizzy, and out of breath now that he was walking, but he knew he had to keep going. Something told him his crew was in trouble, and so he only allowed himself a minute of rest before continuing onward toward the turbo lift.
Once he finally made it, having to use the wall the whole way there, he let out an involuntary sigh of relief, but just before he could activate the sensors to open the doors, a chilling, all-too-familiar voice echoed from behind him.
āHello, Captain.ā
Jim, still holding onto the wall, very slowly turned himself around, his eyes widening at the person standing just a few feet away.
āKhan,ā he whispered, his gaze hardening in a glare.
Khan said nothing. He just smirked and started to chuckle maniacally as the Captainās knees buckled beneath him, unable to hold his weight anymore. He hit the floor with a thump and quickly faded into unconsciousness, Khanās laughter following him into the dark.
āā
Spock wasnāt entirely sure what heād expected to find when the doors of the turbo lift slid open, but it definitely hadnāt been to see his captain only a foot or so away from him, on the floor, collapsed against the wall.
Heād just received an alert from Doctor McCoy that Jim was suspected to be caught in a hallucinogenic episode and had run off. Last heād heard, Jim had been asleep, having drifted off again after a brief awakening after his lukewarm bath. Spock knew from his brief conversation with the Doctor approximately two hours and forty seven minutes ago that the Captain had already experienced one of these episodes, so, from a logical standpoint, it was a good assumption that he was having another one.
Why else would he have left Sick Bay in such a hurry?
What the Vulcan was really curious about was how it had transpired, Jim managing to escape Sick Bay. How had Jim even been able to stand up in his condition, let alone walk out of Sick Bay? And without Nurse Chapel or Doctor McCoy noticing? Spock didnāt know, but heād kept that question to himself and had proceeded to search for him. Logic (like always) had taken over his thought processes and advised him (with great urgency) that locating Jim and returning him to Sick Bay was the best (and most important) course of action.
No time for side questions, that voice in his head had chastised him. The voice speaking was, without a doubt, the part of him that had been raised in the ways of a Vulcan, the part of him taught that logic was the end all be all. The other part of him, though, the human half, had been overwhelmed with fear, and a growing concern that maybe theyād run out of time. If the Captain was having more hallucinations, that meant the fever had gone up again, and if the fever had gone up again, that meant he was getting sicker.
McCoy, during their most recent talk, had let Spock know that the cool bath had been successful in lowering the fever and that the application of cooling rags following the bath had helped keep it that way, but only for a few hours.
Heād been on his way to Sick Bay anyway when heād gotten McCoyās message, so the change in plan didnāt really bother him. Heād actually been quite grateful for an official excuse to see his friend. He just wished it was under better circumstances, wished it was due to an improvement in his condition, not a decline.
Ever since Jim had fallen ill, Spock had been checking in periodically, making all kinds of excuses for why he was doing so and insisting that these check-ins were for professional reasons only, but he sensed that everyone around him had started to pick up on the truth, especially McCoy. The Doctor had commented on it quite a few times, seeing right through to his human half. He was worried, very worried, and it didnāt take a genius to recognize that.
He got the impression that McCoy didnāt blame him, though. Nobody did. Everyone was worried about the Captain, stuck wondering if this was really it, if this was really the thing that would kill him. After everything this crew had been through, it was hard to imagine that a virus could be what took him in the end, but, regardless of how unfathomable it was, their reactions were perfectly normal. So was Spockās, despite his tendency to deny feeling such a way. The only one blaming him for his reaction was himself, because he was a Vulcan, and Vulcans werenāt supposed to care beyond the point of logic, yet he did, and he couldnāt fight it. Not this time.
If the USS Ferocity remained on schedule, then it would be there with the opramozine soon, but that didnāt make Spock feel much better, given the fact that 1): there was no guarantee the medicine would cure the Captain (his immune system could reject it, as McCoy had stated earlier), and 2): he was currently unconscious at his feet.
With haste (and an ever-rising apprehension in the pit of his stomach), Spock knelt beside the Captain, placing two fingers to the carotid artery in his neck and holding his breath. Even if heād wanted to (and he definitely didnāt), he couldnāt have described the amount of relief he felt when a slightly rapid yet strong pulse beat back against his fingertips, but that relief began to dissipate just seconds later when he noticed the shallow, labored breaths entering and exiting the Captainās lungs, concerned about how there came a harsh rattling sound with each inhale and exhale, almost like heād breathed in water and was asphyxiating. He also noted how his face and neck were completely drenched in sweat, so much so that the collar of his Starfleet uniform was soaked through, causing the fabric to stick to his skin, turning itsā color from light yellow to dark yellow. This, the Vulcan deduced, was confirmation of an increase in temperature. As for his breathing, Spock was uncertain of what was going on there, some kind of fluid in the lungs, perhaps, but he was no doctor, and he did not have any medical equipment with him, so there was no way for him to know for sure.
Spock quickly scrambled to his feet and over to the nearest intercom.
āSpock to Doctor McCoy.ā
The reply was instant.
āMcCoy here. Mister Spock, please tell me youāve found him.ā McCoyās voice was strained with worry, and a touch of guilt (Spock didnāt pick up on it though. His alien half didnāt leave much room for interpreting emotion, especially when it came to speech.)
āYes, Doctor. I have located the Captain. Deck 5, near the turbo lift. He is unconscious, breathing but with great difficulty. I suspect fluid in the lungs.ā
āTry and keep him upright. It should help him breathe,ā McCoy instructed him.
āWill do, Doctor, but I suggest that you make haste.ā
āIām on my way. McCoy out.ā
āSpock out.ā
Just as their exchange ended, Jim drifted back into a hazy, half conscious state, a wet cough escaping him. Spock immediately tore away from the intercom and rushed back over to him.
āCaptain?ā He asked as he dropped to his knees, watching intently as his friendās eyelids parted just a sliver (seemingly at the sound of his voice), assessing his level of awareness and watching for any signs that he was still hallucinating.
āā¦.Sp-Spock?ā Jim croaked, his Adamās apple bobbing with a swallow.
Recognition, he observed. A good sign.
Their gazes met for a moment, and as Jimās eyes slowly widened he could see how they were slightly crossed, as if he was too exhausted to focus them.
āSp-ā Jim fell into a violent coughing fit before he could finish, nearly gasping for air in between each cough, wheezing desperately as his lungs struggled to pull in oxygen. To Spockās horror, with several of the coughs came a few globs of blood. They spewed out of his mouth and down his chin, staining the sweat-slicked skin in crimson red splatters.
The source of the rattling, Spock realized.
āā¦..Spāckā¦āmā¦s-sārryā¦.ā Jim gurgled as more blood dribbled out of his mouth, the noise originating from deep in his throat. Concerning, to say the least.
āI would advise you not to talk, Captain,ā the Vulcan said calmly. He wasnāt quite sure what to say, unsure of how to comfort people in times like this. āDoctor McCoy is on the way.ā
āā¦..I-Iāmā¦.ā Jim trailed off (appearing not to have heard him), his eyes beginning to roll upward, toward his skull.
āJim!ā Spock shouted, catching the man with both hands as he slumped to the side. āTry and keep him upright. It should help him breathe,ā McCoyās words echoed in the back of his mind. He repeated them to himself several times in an effort to focus his attention on the present, to ward off the panic brewing in his gut. Panic wasnāt something he was too familiar with (it took him a little by surprise that he was experiencing it now), but one thing was certain: he found it less than desirable and willed his Vulcan half to take control so he wouldnāt have to feel it.
Jim blinked once, then twice, his eyes slowly rolling back to their normal position, almost as if heād begun to pass out and then somehow yanked himself back into that partially conscious state.
āā¦..ām sorry, Spāckā¦ā Jim rasped. He stared up at his friend, his jaw flexing like he was trying to say more, but nothing else came out, then he swallowed again, and Spock recognized that this was because he was attempting to rid his airway of the blood. Not only was it disrupting his ability to speak, it was also turning breathing into an arduous task.
āI see no logic in expressing guilt, Captain,ā Spock said. The illogic of his friendās sentiment would have confused him had he not been aware of his current state. āYou have done nothing wrong.ā
āā¦hāve tāā¦s-stopā¦Khanā¦ā
It was definite now. He was most certainly hallucinating. His use of Khanās name, in Spockās eyes, confirmed that, because Khan wasnāt here.
āā¦.ās m-my fault. Khanā¦.have t-toā¦.getā¦.thā Bridgeā¦.ā the Captainās sentences were broken, only pieces of his thoughts being put into nearly incoherent words. He squirmed weakly in Spockās grasp, trying to sit up so he could then get to his feet, but Spockās grip was too strong (even under normal circumstances, heād have been unable to escape. Vulcans were so damn strong, and definitely much stronger than humans. It was one of the smaller things that made him such a valuable first officer.)
āJim,ā Spock stated firmly, using his abbreviated name in the hope it would get through to him even in the midst of his fever-induced hallucinations, āKhan is not here. Youāre hallucinating.ā Straight to the point, as always.
āā¦.n-no,ā Jim groaned, shaking his head. His whole body began to tremble due to the tremendous amount of strain these misplaced emotions were putting him through, so overwhelmed by fear and confusion that it was physically taxing him, and he had no energy to spare. Spending any extra could even prove dangerous.
Spock scooted forward until he was nearly behind the Captain, then he carefully pulled him into his arms, cradling him close. He wasnāt 100% sure what he was doing or why he felt the need to do so, but heād seen others do it many times. The gesture, to him, appeared to be some sort of a hug, and he knew that hugs were something humans did to comfort someone in distress. It made him a bit uncomfortable, all of this touchy, feely business, but his feelings didnāt matter right now. What mattered was keeping Jim calm until the Doctor arrived, and if this is what it took to accomplish that, he was going to do it. He knew that allowing his friend to panic, allowing his illness-driven delirium to run wild, would only complicate things further.
At the contact, Jim sighed, the tension in his muscles melting a little and the tremors lessening slightly. His eyelids flickered shut, too, and his head lolled to the side (as if too heavy to hold upright) until it came to a rest on Spockās shoulder.
āJim?ā The Vulcan asked quietly, shaking him a bit. There was the faintest hint of fear in his voice, hidden beneath several, very thick layers of monotone, but it vanished when the Captain opened his eyes again moments later. When he did, Spock got a close-up view of their bluish-green hue. He was grateful to see them, unsettled, however, by their glassy, glazed-over appearance. They looked worse than before, much worse.
āā¦..Spāck...ā Jim choked out. He lifted a trembling hand and curled his fingers into the fabric of Spockās shirt, gripping it weakly.
āIām right here, Captain.ā Spock held him a little tighter, getting the impression that the close proximity was, indeed, helping to induce a state of calm in his friend.
Jim peered up at him, his lips slightly parted as he attempted to resupply his lungs with the air they so desperately craved.
Spock used the crook of his elbow to elevate his head a bit further in the hope that McCoyās earlier instructions would apply and help him breathe.
āā¦..ām s-scared, Spock,ā Jim whispered, even more blood bubbling up in his mouth. There was so much now that it had dripped onto his shirt, leaving splotches of red on it.
The admission frightened the Vulcan. Never in his life could he have predicted hearing those words come out of Jimās mouth.
Where is the Doctor? It shouldnāt be taking him this long.
āDoctor McCoy is on his way. Just hold out a little longer,ā Spock told him.
The Captain suddenly went limp against him, his head rolling backward and lolling limply. At the same time, his fingers uncurled from Spockās shirt and his hand slowly slid down his chest.
āJim!ā Spock yelled, shaking him in an effort to elicit a response, attempting to bring him back to consciousness, but it failed. The Vulcan, with great despair, then noticed (and felt) that the Captain was barely breathing. āJim!ā
āSpock!ā came a new but familiar voice. āIāve got the opramozine!ā Doctor McCoy announced as he rushed up to them, a hypospray gripped firmly in his hand. āGod, Jim,ā he whispered as he dropped down beside them, no doubt catching sight of all the blood. He wasted no time in giving him the drug, pressing the hypospray to Jimās shoulder and administering the opramozine. Once that was done, he quickly prepared another hypospray, this one a dose of the tri-ox compound.
Several minutes passed. They both waited with bated breath, uncertain of how it would play out, unsure of their Captainās (and best friendās) fate. This was the moment of truth. Would the opramozine cure him, or had he been sentenced to death?
I'll never understand shaming WITHIN the whump community. No you're not a "fake fan of whump" or "weaker" than other whump fans because of your squicks. No your blorbo doesn't have to be chopped into little bits and blended into a smoothie for it to really be whump. Yes you can like whump and still like fluff, fix-its and wholesome fandom content.
I thought we knew better than this, y'all. Support all whump fans, we're a community after all
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