#everything hurts and i’m dying

[whumpypepsigal]

@whumpgifathon | Day 26: “Everything Hurts and I’m Dying”

Hugh Evans (Sir) in Found 1x09

[chronicallydragons]

Wishin I could detach body parts like a Mr. Potato Head so I could put them in time out until they stop hurting

[whenthegoldrays]

lights camera and smile even when you wanna die 😍

[vveirdvvitch]

Can y’all tell I took a sick day?

[lengthofropes]

HOW do you sleep in a bus?? how???

[appalesbian]

finished Nona. I am a broken woman

[of-wounds-and-woes]

Whumptober 2022 | no. 8: Everything Hurts and I’m Dying

Stomach pain | Head Trauma | Back from the Dead

Lord of the Rings: Rings of Power S01E08

@whumptober @whumptober-archive

[omgrandomwords]

i’m gonna be sick

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #8

xxx everything hurts and i'm dying

Diego wakes up coughing, his body’s painful attempt to expel the dust from his lungs. He’s not sure where he is, or what’s happened, or even which way is up. Even so he hears himself say (somehow, over the ringing in his ears), “Klaus?” His voice claws its way out of his dry throat, his mouth operating faster than his brain. “Klaus!”

His brain is catching up, now, enough that he can tell that he’s facedown on the ground, and that he needs to get up.

He starts the process slowly, experimentally, gauging which movements make him hurt. Given that his whole body seems to be one big ow, fuck, it’s kind of like looking for a needle in a stack of needles. He can move all of his limbs, though, and for now that’s enough. He opens his eyes next, squinting against the dust--again, with the fucking dust, what is with all this--

Oh. 

Oh.

It all comes rushing back to him, then--the mysterious ticking-glowing box, Klaus shoving him out of the way, the explosion…

Fuck.

“Klaus!” The shout rattles in his chest as he scrambles to his feet. “Klaus!”

There’s a sound behind him, and he turns. With the mess--the explosion seems to have brought down part of the ceiling--it takes a second to spot him, but Klaus is there, slumped against the wall. 

“Klaus.” He crosses the room in a few strides and starts plowing through the debris that stands between him and his brother, and it’s easy to ignore the pain in his stomach. “You alive?”

“Diego?” Klaus’s voice is so quiet, Diego worries he maye have imagined it. He picks up the pace.

“I’m comin’,” he says. He’s almost to him now, can see Klaus’s unconscious (he hopes) face, but there’s a big piece of ceiling in the way and Diego’s starting to run out of energy. But he has to do this. He can do this. “Just-- hang on. There’s this big piece right here, just give me one second--”

He bends at the knees and gets his hands under the edge of the debris, counts to three, and lifts--

And Klaus wails. It’s a horrible sound that’s barely human and that makes every hair on Diego’s body stand up as he hurriedly drops the slab of cement. He’d barely moved it, only a few inches, but that was enough for Diego to get to Klaus, and it’s clear why he’s screaming. 

After he’d shoved Diego out of the way, he must have used himself to block the brunt of the blast. He’d saved Diego from the worst of it--and taken it directly to his body. Diego’s not even sure what he’s looking at, at first. Klaus’s torso starting at the bottom of his ribcage and down is a mess of red and pink and he’s seeing body parts he was never meant to see and Diego has no idea how Klaus is still alive, only that he is. 

“Oh…Oh my god.” Diego’s hands tremble, his heart hammering as he kneels next to his brother, his knees slipping slightly on the pool of blood. He reaches forward to touch his brother’s, but stops. He’s too afraid of hurting him, so his hand hovers awkwardly. “O-okay. Klaus, I don’t even--What do I do?”

Klaus lifts his eyes, and they’re wide and wild with pain and desperation. “Kill me.”

Diego’s stomach drops, and he shakes his head. “No, no. No. You can’t ask me to do that. I’ll-” He swallows. “I’ll get help,” he finishes weakly, though he knows as well as Klaus does that he’s beyond that kind of help.

Klaus starts to speak, lets out an agonized sound instead, his face screwing up with pain. He coughs weakly, shakes his head once. “Please…‘t hurts.”

Diego doesn’t even try to keep his voice from shaking. “If you make me do this, I’ll never forgive you.”

Klaus doesn’t raise his head to look at him, just smiles tiredly, revealing red-stained teeth. A string of blood drips from his mouth. “Yeah, you will.”

The smile vanishes. He can’t draw the breath to scream again. The sound that comes from him is wet and gutterall and somehow worse than that heart wrenching wail and Diego’s hit with a wave of guilt. He can’t stop the tears that start flowing. He can end Klaus’s suffering, but…

“What if you don’t come back?” Diego whispers. Klaus doesn’t answer. It’s not clear whether he’s too far gone or just too tired from the pain and trauma, but Diego knows he needs to do as Klaus asked. His hand shakes violently as he pulls a knife from his boot. He places the other hand gently against Klaus’s face, tilting it up slightly. “You come back, Klaus. You better fucking come back.”

His right hand flicks with its usual speed and precision. Klaus’s expression in the split second before he dies is strangely peaceful, and then the light leaves his eyes. 

“Oh my god,” Diego says shakily. The adrenaline is leaving him now, and everything hurts and he is exhausted. “Ooh, fuck.”

He shifts and leans back so his back is against the wall next to Klaus, and moves his brother’s body as carefully as he can so that Klaus’s head is in his lap. Then he stares straight ahead, his fingers running idly through Klaus’s curls as he waits for him to come back. He doesn’t have the energy to keep track of the minutes, but even if he did it wouldn’t be an accurate count. Every second seems to stretch to an eternity in itself. Diego will wait until the end of time if he has to, or at least until the next apocalypse. 

He’s not feeling too good himself; he’s lightheaded and his fingers and toes are starting to tingle and his left shoulder is killing him. But that can wait. 

He doesn’t want Klaus to wake up alone.

He doesn’t notice when the horrible messy wounds begin to knit themselves shut, or when the color slowly begins to return to his brother’s paper-white skin. 

It nearly scares the shit out of him when Klaus suddenly takes a noisy, shuddery, gasping breath. He bolts into a sitting position, looking down at his torso and feeling his newly reconstructed body. And then he looks up at Diego, eyes wide, and smiles. 

Diego sighs. “Oh, thank fuck.” The relief is making him dizzy, and he blinks heavily. 

“Hey, Diego? You okay?” Klaus’s voice sounds weirdly far away. 

Diego nods. Now that Klaus is awake, he’s ready to close his eyes for a minute. He doesn’t feel himself list forward, or Klaus’s hands grabbing his arms and shaking him. He doesn’t even try to fight the darkness that clouds his vision. 

He’s earned a little rest. 

xxx 

[bloodsweatandpotato]

Day 8

Everything hurts and I’m dying

Fandom: Original work

Characters: Spy Whumpee, Whumper

Tw: Mention of torture, stab wounds

Summary: Sequel to day 3. Whumpee wakes up bound and in pain. Their day just goes downhill from there.

Whumpee blinked awake slowly, eyes stubbornly refusing to focus on their surroundings. They experimentally tried to move their hands, and stifled a groan as pain lanced through their shoulders.

Their head was throbbing, their nose and eyes burned, and their mouth tasted foul in a way that pointed to the less-than-pleasant aftereffects of chloroform. They grimaced, feeling the way a spot on their temple pulled with dried blood and puckered skin.

Whumpee swallowed convulsively, pushing down nausea. They had already humiliated themself enough by being caught unaware in an alleyway. They didn’t need to get sick all over themself to complete the pathetic look.

Whumpee turned their attention back to their surroundings, blinking harshly in an attempt to see clearer.

They were sitting on the floor (well, sitting is relative. They were actually slumped against the wall, but who cares about semantics?) with their hands bound behind them. The pain from when they first woke was enough to dissuade Whumpee from attempting to move their arms again, but they did flex their fingers experimentally.

Handcuffs.

Wrapped around a… metal pipe?

Keeping them shackled against the wall.

Whumpee sighed. They had already been cornered in an alleyway and subdued with chloroform and a tap on the head. Why couldn’t their captor have completed the stereotypical kidnapping by just tying Whumpee to a chair? At least then Whumpee would have had a chance at slipping the knots.

As it was, the only way they would get out of the cuffs would be by dislocating their thumb, and the pain in their arms and shoulders told Whumpee it would be agonizing to even get enough leverage to do so.

They took a deep breath, taking stock of their injuries.

They wiggled their toes (already having established they had feeling in their fingers) and were pleased to find all limbs seemed to be attached and in relatively working order. So, probable concussion (it couldn’t be too bad, Whumpee hadn’t lost consciousness, only been a bit dazed), side effects of chloroform, upper arms that felt as if they had been quite rudely smashed with a hammer, and whatever was wrong with their side.

Whumpee really didn’t want to look down at their side.

They really didn’t want to confirm that it was blood warming their skin.

They looked down anyway.

Fuck.

Just then, the door to the basement (Whumpee had figured out it was a basement by now) swung open, and Whumper stepped in.

Whumpee squinted against the light, watching as Whumper strolled down the stairs and towards them. Their kidnapper didn’t smile.

“You’re awake.” They stated plainly.

Whumpee found an angry smile curling their lips into a half-snarl, and they growled out a response in a voice too-raspy from the chloroform.

“Oh good, your eyes work. I was getting worried, y’know, with how bad the interior design of this place is. Ever heard of, I don’t know, color?”

Whumper didn’t respond to the jab, only scanning Whumpee’s form impassively.

“How are you feeling?”

“Well, everything hurts and I’m dying, but other than that I’m great.” Whumpee rolled their eyes.

“Dying?”

“Well the giant stab wound in my side certainly seems counter to my survival, don’t you think?”

Whumper grunted, eyebrows furrowing in the first display of emotion since they had entered. “I didn’t mean to go so deep.”

Whumpee said nothing.

“I’ll stitch it.” Whumper growled, advancing on Whumpee.

“I’ll bite you.” Whumpee promised.

The gag shoved in Whumpee’s mouth was unsurprising. They didn’t struggle, letting Whumper stitch them with clinical detachment. Well, it appears their kidnapper was keen on keeping them alive, at least for then. Whumpee wondered what information they would be tortured for this time.

[daechwitatamic]

Jo was dragged into nature yesterday

[government-weed]

[another-whump-sideblog]

Jane’s Pets Pt. 24: Everything Hurts and I’m Dying

Tws in the tags

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Stomach pain | Head trauma | Back from the dead

She has to feed you. She has to. You’ll die if she doesn’t, and she said she doesn’t want you to die yet. The whole point of this is for you to forget your name and she wouldn’t be bothering to do that if she was just going to starve you to death. She has to feed you.

Your stomach is in unbearable pain. She has to feed you soon. She has to.

You hate her.

It’s shocking that this is the first time you’ve admitted it to yourself. Of course you hate her. She tortures people. She tortures you. She’s torturing you right now without even touching you, torturing you through hunger alone. You hate her.

You suppose the reason it’s been so hard to admit is how powerful she is. Hating her feels like hating a force of nature, like hating a tornado or earthquake. She’s the kind of thing where all you can do is try to minimize the damage, not prevent it.

It was easy to hate Kit and Dollie. The two of them are so obviously human, in everything they do. Traumatized humans, but human. And you expect a lot more kindness from humans than from forces of nature.

But Jane isn’t a force of nature. She could stop what she does at any time. Every bit of harm she causes is because she chose to do it. She could choose not to at any point, and she doesn’t. She is much more deserving of your hate than the others ever were or will be.

It feels so much better to be angry than to be afraid. You don’t deserve this. This shouldn’t be happening. This isn’t right. The righteous anger finds a place in your chest and sits comfortably.

You know the feeling won’t last long, so you savor it. It feels powerful. You haven’t felt powerful since…

God, you can’t even remember. You can’t think of a single time you’ve felt strong. You must’ve felt that way at some point, but you can’t remember.

Jane appears in your line of vision, and cold terror chases the hot anger away, leaving you shivering.

“Hi, Bunny. Did you enjoy your break?”

You curl into yourself. It won’t do any good, but some part of you still needs to protect yourself somehow.

“Are you hungry?”

You jerk your head up. “Yes, master.”

She crouches down next to you. “Do you think you deserve some food?”

“Yes, master.”

“What have you done to deserve food, Bunny?”

“I was good! I didn’t disobey. I did everything you wanted. If I’ve done anything wrong you haven’t told me. I was good.”

She chuckles. “Alright, you’ve convinced me. Eat up.”

Jane produces a bowl full of some kind of pellets. You’d bet good money it’s rabbit food, but you don’t care at all. You shovel the food into your mouth eagerly, barely tasting it. It’s gone too soon, and your stomach still aches.

“Thank you, master.” You’d grovel for more if you thought that had any chance of swaying her, but you’ve learned by now that it wouldn’t. If she’s going to give you more food, she decided that long before she came back down here.

“Aw, such a good boy. Are you ready to work on your name some more?”

You whimper. “I don’t remember it.”

“Even if you’re telling the truth, I still want to do more conditioning. Got to make sure you won’t start remembering again the second I let you back upstairs, right? Follow me.”

You drag yourself to your feet, drowning in dread. You’re going to get hurt. You know it won’t be as bad if you obey, but it will still be really really bad.

You stumble after Jane. It’s dark in the basement and you’re in pain. You stumble. You stumble, and you trip, and you fall.

You’re too weak to get your arms out in front of you, and your head hits the concrete hard.

You swear you head fucking explodes. All you can see is white light and all you can hear is a high pitched ringing.

You’ve died. You’ve actually died. That’s the only explanation you can think of. It hurts so bad. Oh god, does death just hurt and hurt and hurt? Does it never end?

You’re not dead. Not even close. Well, not much closer than normal. Still, it feels like being painfully resurrected. Slowly, you come back to the basement. It’s blurry and loud and bright, but still unmistakably the basement.

Jane is laughing.

“Oh my god! I bet you just gave yourself a concussion. That was you, this time! I didn’t do anything! That’s hilarious. You looked ridiculous.”

You cover your ears. She’s so loud. You’ve had a concussion before. It didn’t feel like this.

“Come on, get up. We still have work to do.”

You try to get up onto your knees and immediately fall over, luckily catching yourself this time. The ground wobbles and the room is blurry.

“You can crawl if that’s easier. I don’t mind.”

You drag yourself on the ground after Jane. Everything hurts. Your head is killing you.

Well, you wish your head was killing you. You wish that everything hurting meant you were dying. But everything just hurts.

A/N: Let me know if I should tag anything else!

Tag list: @eatyourdamnpears @ghostsinthecloset

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2022

NO. 8 - EVERYTHING HURTS AND I’M DYING

Stomach Pain | Head Trauma | Back From the Dead

Contains: immortal whumpee, referenced head injury, briefly mentioned nausea, mild blood, death mention

.

Whumpee groans as sensations start to return. It’s always intense pain first, this time in the back of their head, as if someone had bludgeoned it with a bat. Which, come to think of it, is probably exactly what happened.

Then, of course, there’s the dizziness, and nausea, and whole body ache, and all the other fun feelings that come from blood loss and from said blood rapidly regenerating in their veins. The good news is that the headache is waning as it heals.

The bad news is that they can hear somebody exclaiming nearby. It’s probably whoever killed them in the first place, and they probably weren’t expecting their victim to suddenly start moving and groaning.

That’s always a fun one to try and explain.

[sarahscribbles]

I guess there’s some tiny comfort (??????????) in realising I’m not Big Sad it’s just the week of my period and I have PMDD 🙂

[roblingoblin285]

i have been sick since wednesday. finals started on wednesday. if anyone has overworked/working sick whumpee stuff please gimme (i’m coping)