#tossing and turning

[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)

[screengifs]

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

[aceofwhump]

BBC Merlin 1x04 "The Poisoned Chalice"

[giffypudding]

Tossin' and turnin'

[crimsonlyinglilly]

April of Angst and Whump, Day Twenty-Seven

On time for a change, then back to catch up.

Part of Forgotten - Kol faces that Elijah may never return to what he knows and accepts their family needs to change, it was time to grow up.

Set after "Just a little more." and before Normal

For @whumpril 2025 day 27 - Tossing and Turning

For @chaos-company's Angstpril 2025 day 27 - giving everything they've got

----

Kol’s been at the house for about a week, and while there hadn’t been another episode like there had been at the mention of Nik’s name it was clear something was different.

Elijah had always been the calmer ones in the family, even when he was a child he remembered Elijah could be just as at home in the centre of his friends from their neighbours as he was alone, helping mother around their home or hunting, Kol knows the rest of them always had a habit of growing bored and looking for something to entertain them, it had cost Henrik his life after all.

So the apparent house arrest Elijah was under wasn’t out of character but even when Elijah had all the instruments, books and modern tech at his hand, something about it seemed subdued.

Kol wanted to deny it, to pretend he couldn’t see it but while it was clear his brother was trying to act as normal, it wasn’t. He was hesitant about everything, his movement switched from his normal graceful to as clumsy as a toddler, he flinched at sudden moves or loud noises and was easily distracted.

Kol or Davina had had to remind him to drink four times out of five mandatory feeds Marcel had set.

Elijah tried to hide it but Kol had spent his life looking up to him, watching everything every change was an alarm bell and forcing Kol to accept Marcel’s words and concerns were well founded.

Kol hated the idea this was an improvement and dreaded wondering what Elijah had been like when first freed from the dagger or the idea that something could so easily set him back to that.

Something like Nik, wandering the city and seething about Elijah abandoning them, when he had been the one to fail their brother. And it could only be Nik because the rest of them had been in coffins of their own.

He was passing Elijah’s room when he caught the sound he had grown familiar with back in Mystic falls, and from the few nights he had stayed with Finn and Sage since mother’s tragic second death. The sounds of distress, of one of his older brothers crying in his sleep.

With Finn it was easy, once he was reunited with Sage leave it to her to wake him and remind him the coffin was in his past.

Kol pushed the door open, he had been warned of this, Marcel and Davina had both told him it would happen and what to do but Kol had hoped they were unneeded warning. That their reunion would help Elijah, he was starting to realise much of that hope had been unbecomingly naive of someone his age and familiar with his family.

If anyone could break Elijah it would be a mix of Mikael and Niklaus.

Elijah was tossing and turning in his sleep, several of the additional blankets had slipped from him to the floor, creating a mess unnatural of Elijah.

The choked whine was equally unnatural of him and Kol was across the room and at his side in an instant, hand gently shaking him. 

The whine became a sob, and Kol flinched,

“Help me.” Elijah choked in his sleep, twisting in Kol’s grasp; they had warned him that sometimes it was impossible to wake him, his mind turning against him and sending him back to be trapped in the coffin.  

Davina had a spell that woke him, they had told him but it left him exhausted and trying to refuse to sleep until he collapsed, even without it being spelt out Kol knew that would cause a set back.

For a moment Elijah stilled and Kol thought for a second it was over.

“I’m in here” Elijah wisphered and Kol took a step back as his mind wondered how often had Elijah begged to be heard while trapped within his body, the same way Finn had been doing for centuries, while Nik ran free and he and Rebekah slept.

Marcel held Elijah’s hand, he had admitted, until the contact got though and calmed the nightmares.

He sent a look to the door, to the fascinating spell for daylight windows, Davina had created with Elijah help and a library he wanted to read before a muffled cry froze him.

Elijah was never meant to sound that small, scare and alone, Elijah who had given everything he had ever gotten to them, from food and time when they were little and human to his own blood as monsters. He took every loss there unthinking actions had cost him, from lovers, friends and power, with brief anger before returning to them with a tired sigh and fondness.

Elijah loved them and that's why he stayed when he shouldn’t have, that's why he fought for them and bled, that’s why he had returned to fight father alone and this was what he got for it.

His strength taken from him, his confidence shattered, his stability, the thing they had all fallen back on at points to anchor themselves, gone.

“Please.” The voice was quiet, almost inaudible but as much as he wanted, Kol heard every part of it, the broken crack at the end of it, the despair as even while pleading he didn’t expect a response.

The books could wait, getting Davina Clare to like and trust him to unlock his playhouse could take a backseat, it was time Elijah came first.

He pulled off his shoes and set them by the door, there was no point upsetting Elijah about making his room untidy, he paused a moment before dropping his belt on top and what he had wanted that first night and climbed into Elijah’s bed.

Elijah’s bed wasn’t as soft as he expected, given his brother’s new collection of oversized soft hoodies and thick blankets, but it was clearly expensive given how comfortable it was. Not that he was surprised it was clear Marcel had put a lot of thought and care into providing for Elijah and Davina.

He barely had to move Elijah into his arms as his brother moved himself, unconsciously seeking his body heat, comfort or security to curl into his side, arms wrapping around him and the noises of fear died away. Kol shifted down so his head was on the pillow and returned the gesture curling his arms around Elijah's thin build.

He barely had to move Elijah into his arms as his brother moved himself to curl into his side, arms wrapping around him. Kol shifted down so his head was on the pillow and stared at the top of his brother’s head.

“You're not alone,” he promised into his brother’s hair, they had always looked similar, where other kids looked to their parents to see how they would grow up Kol had looked at Elijah. But now he was forced to really see he had outgrown his big brother. Not just physically, even with his missing decades- centuries in the coffin Kol had managed to search for a life of his own while Elijah had allowed them to trap him in the centre, given up everything he wanted himself to bow to Klaus’ megalomania, to try to support Rebekah’s dreams, or, Kol knew, drag him out of a pit of trouble he put himself in.

He ignored the pain as even in his sleep Elijah reached out and clutched his ribs with original strength. cracking them slightly, they would heal and Kol had to face Elijah wouldn’t.

It would take time to adjust but Elijah could no longer fulfill his role as the family’s protector, it was time they took care of him and it would take time for Elijah to accept that himself.

It was a good thing Klaus had handed him over to Marcel however much he hated. He could help prepare Elijah; in accepting the changes before them and getting him to trust that Kol would and could stand for him, that he didn’t need to be useful to be part of the family. 

Kol had a deep feeling Klaus and Rebekah would take this far worst and he was annoyed to find he would be on Marcel’s side in this. Elijah had taken enough damage for and from the family, Klaus and Rebekah would have to adapt to this themselves.

A thousand years hiding behind and relying on the idea of Elijah that their brother had built for them, it was time they stood on their own, and gave him a break.

Finn lost nine centuries to the dagger, Elijah lost a thousand years to their needs and demands and both spent night tossing and turning, fearing they were left alone in the dark, while the rest of them never tried to grow up, always expecting someone to clean up after them.

Marcel was right as much as he loathed admitting it, it was time they actually acted like a family and supported each other, before Nik’s kid ended up as broken as the rest of them.

[forgottenflickr]

2011-2012

[cynicalone94]

Tossing And Turning

I teased Wes having his gallbladder out in Ch. 25. So without further ado, here’s the story.

Read on AO3 here or below the cut.

@whumpril

He hasn’t slept in three days.

Just crawls into bed to toss and turn for a while before giving up.

It’s not even nightmares or insomnia or any of the usual reasons that he can’t sleep.

He’s been sick all week. A low-grade fever paired with nausea and vomiting, alternating with diarrhea.

His dad is talking about an run to urgent care if it doesn’t improve soon but thankfully, he’s been able to keep down enough food and fluids to avoid it so far.

But honestly, none of that is really what’s bothering him.

His stomach hurts.

Tight, pulsing pain just below his ribs on the right side.

He’s done his best to ignore it.

Miss Edwin and his foster parents always told him not to be such a baby; that kids get stomachaches and its usually because they ate too much or ate something they shouldn’t have.

Eating too much is an unlikely answer for someone who all too often wasn’t given anything to eat at all.

Eating something bad was more possible.

It wasn’t uncommon for lazy foster parents to bring day old gas station food home for him when (if) they remembered there wasn’t food in the house.

He’d tried to explain that it wasn’t a stomachache.

That he knew what food poisoning felt like and he didn’t overeat.

That had usually led to him being accused of trying to act like he was starving to try to get his foster parents in trouble.

So he’d learned not to say anything.

It hasn’t happened for a while; something that he’d attributed to the fact that he doesn’t have to go without food or risk eating something questionable since he’s been with Mr. Mitchell.

But it’s started up again this week and it’s not going away.

At first, he’d associated it with whatever stomach bug he’d figured he’d picked up.

But this time, something is definitely wrong.

Tonight, the longer he’s laid here, staring at the ceiling and willing sleep to just take him, the more it’s started to hurt and the colder he’s started to feel.

Finally, he crawls out of bed, making his way as quietly as possible to the bathroom in search of the thermometer.

Sits on the toilet seat, shivering while he turns it on and waits for it to calibrate.

Runs it across his forehead.

103.1

Yeah, that’s probably not good.

It’s hard to straighten up and he almost considers crawling to his dad’s room but his ego wins out and he limps across the hall, hand pressed against his side, to knock on the door.

There’s no answer at first and he considers going back to bed, trying to sleep a little bit longer and waiting until the sun is up to bother his dad.

Another flash of pain spreads through him and he drops to his knees.

Knocks again.

“Dad?” He calls weakly, barely even able to hear himself.

His stomach twists but he can’t even begin to stagger to his feet, to try to get to the bathroom, so he just throws up all over himself right there in the hallway.

He wakes to the sound of someone throwing up.

Ruefully thinks for a moment that this stomach flu is kicking Wes’s ass and it’s definitely time to take him to urgent care first thing in the morning.

Then he realizes that the sound is a lot closer than the bathroom down the hall.

He doesn’t even bother with his robe as he stumbles out of bed and to the door.

Wes is doubled over in the hallway, his legs covered in vomit.

“Oh kiddo.” He says softly, kneeling in front of him and then recoiling as he feels the heat coming off of him.

“It hurts.” Wes whimpers, arms curled around his stomach in a way that sends alarm bells ringing through him.

But not as much as the tears in his eyes.

He hates it but Wes has the highest pain tolerance of anyone he’s ever met.

If the pain is enough to bring tears to his eyes, something is wrong.

“Hang on, bud.” He whispers, hurrying over to drag pants on over his boxers, shove his feet into sandals and his phone and wallet into pockets before returning and lifting his son into his arms.

He’s getting harder to carry but he’s still lighter than any seventeen year old has any right to be but he’s grateful for the moment because he’s not sure the kid is up for walking.

A brief stop by the door to grab his keys and he’s running out to his truck.

Wes has really got to stop doing this to him.

One thing about arriving at the Emergency Room with a teen who’s hot enough to boil an egg on his forehead and nearly unresponsive with pain is that there’s no waiting.

Wes is rushed directly into a bay and Sean is told they’ll find him when they have news.

And that’s when the waiting begins.

At least for him.

After nearly two hours where the only news he gets come in tandem with requests to approve imaging and tests, they tell him his son needs surgery.

His gallbladder is badly obstructed and has become dangerously inflamed as a result.

They need to remove it.

Yes, Wes can manage just fine without a gallbladder.

He signs the forms robotically and then collapses back into his chair.

Only realizes that he hasn’t called anyone when his sister comes downstairs.

She’d been shocked and horrified to see her nephew being wheeled into her CT but it had taken her a minute to get away.

She can’t stay long but does her best to reassure him and then calls Grant to come sit with him before heading back to work.

It’s not a long surgery.

Grant hasn’t been there more than thirty minutes before a surgeon is coming out, telling them both that Wes had done very well.

That his gallbladder has been removed and he’ll be treated with antibiotics to clear the remainder of the infection.

Then he asks if Wes has had a lot of stomach aches.

Because while he’ll need pathology to say for sure, he’s pretty confident that Wes has been dealing with gallstones for several years at least.

When Sean explains that Wes is a former foster kid, one for whom malnutrition has been a problem in the past, he nods.

“That would definitely increase the likelihood of them forming.” He agrees. “And I would guess that foster parents who couldn’t be bothered to properly feed him probably didn’t respond positively when he told them his stomach was hurting.”

Sean can tell you right now that the man is correct.

Feels an all too familiar sense of rage toward the social worker who was no doubt as dismissive if not more so than any of his so-called parents.

A sense of hurt that Wes hadn’t felt like he could tell him about it.

“He’s in recovery now, could wake up anytime if you’d like to sit with him.” The doctor says, reading the sea of emotions on Sean’s face.

He glances over at Grant.

“Go.” His best friend says. “I’ll make a run by your place, get both of you some things and circle back around.”

“Don’t forget-”

“I’ll make sure I grab Tito.” His friend interrupts. “Give a guy some credit.”

He can’t help but chuckle.

Wes has been let down in the past.

A lot.

But he has people now.

The trick is just helping him remember that.

It’s three days before they have a chance to talk.

Wes is home, still on oral antibiotics, but resting in his own bed and already looking miles better.

He swears up and down that he hasn’t kept any stomach pain from Sean, that it hasn’t happened since Sean had taken him in.

Sean decides to believe him, letting the topic die with one last reminder that he’s here no matter what.

That Wes is important to him and nothing is too small to bother him with.

Wes rolls his eyes, responding with his usual teenage smartass but the shy smile that he gives when he thinks Sean isn’t looking anymore tells him everything he needs to know.

The kid understands.

[xianhuashi]

Dude… how could you say that about Big Hero 6? “Not interesting” how dare you??

[sylvanfreckles]

House of Cards: Chapter Seven

Fandom: Persona 4 Rating: T Warnings: abuse, neglect, homelessness

When Ryotaro Dojima finds out that Yosuke is having a hard time at home, he doesn't hesitate to open his home to his nephew's friend. He may not know the kid very well, but he'll sleep a whole lot better knowing Yosuke's safe under his roof than living out on the streets of Inaba. Things take a turn when the kid disappears on him, and Ryotaro and the rest of the investigation team aren't going to rest until Yosuke's safe and sound.

@whumpril Day 27: Tossing and Turning

I can't catch up, but I'll still try to finish my whumpril fics this week!

[bookishzelda]

Whumpril Day 27: Tossing and Turning

More Malon x Link because I love them. This one turned fluffier than I expected, oh nooooo.....

Whumpril Day 27: Tossing and Turning

OoT Link x Malon

Malon opened her eyes slowly, roused by her husband’s incessant movement beside her. In the thin line of moonlight from the window, she could see him sitting upright, turning his pillow before flopping back down in obvious frustration.

Malon’s heart twinged with sympathy. Link’s nightmares had kept them both up since they had first gotten married. The terror and trauma that still dwelled in his heart was normally something that he could keep dormant during the day, but the silence that came at nighttime tended to bring it all to the surface, keeping him from sleep. Malon could only watch helplessly, doing her best to soothe him but unable to take the pain away.

She reached over to place a hand on his arm. “My love?”

“Malon, go back to sleep,” Link grunted.

“I can’t,” she said softly. “You woke me up.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. He rolled over to face her and stroked her cheek. “I’m sorry, Malon, you shouldn’t have to deal with this. I might go sleep downstairs for the night.”

“You will do no such thing!” Malon replied. “I’ll get back to sleep once you do. I’d rather know that you’re okay.”

“I’m never okay,” he said with a humorless chuckle. “That doesn’t mean it has to be your problem.”

“I knew this was going to happen before I even married you, fairy boy. We’ve been doing this for months. Believe me, if I could take this upon myself, I would, but for now just know that I’m by your side.”

Link smiled and kissed her forehead. “Thank you, Malon. Go back to sleep, I’ll try to stay still.”

Malon closed her eyes as Link rolled onto his back. Focusing on the steady sound of her breathing, she felt herself drifting slowly toward sleep. Link was still beside her, his breathing uneven but calm. Just as she was about to fall into sleep, she was jolted by sudden movement on the other side of the bed.

“I’m sorry,” Link said again, frustration tinging his voice. “I’m really trying.”

“I know. It’s okay, Link. I’m here, everything’s okay.” She wrapped her arm around his, giving him a comforting squeeze. “Your instincts just need some time to calm down, like usual. Give it time.”

Even as he nodded at her words, he squirmed, trying desperately to find a comfortable spot on the mattress. Malon was struck by an idea. She sat up and gently rolled him onto his stomach before climbing on top of his back, stretching out her full weight on top of him. His tense muscles were as hard as steel underneath her. She kissed the point of his ear and whispered, “Is this okay?”

She felt him relax beneath her as her body pressed his down into the mattress. “Yeah,” he said. “This is perfect.” She gently squeezed his shoulders and entwined her legs with his, slowly rubbing his arms up and down. She rested her head in the crook of his neck and closed her eyes. “Listen to my breathing,” she said.

As she felt his muscles slowly unclench beneath her, the rise and fall of his chest grew slower and steadier. Before long, she could hear his breath coming in tiny snores. She smiled to herself and nestled her face into his hair. Soon enough, she found herself surrendering to the sweet call of sleep.

[maysilees-cardigan]

on her sleepless nights taylor swift writes songs and wrote a very successful album

on my sleepless nights i just scroll through tiktok, tumblr and create fake scenarios in my mind. oh i wish i could be productive like dr swift

[giffypudding]

Sleep the Sleep of the Just

[queenimmadolla]

Good news is i got high to induce a bout of writing.

Bad news is I’m so overstimulated, I don’t like how my leg skin feels against my velvet blanket so I want to chop my lower limbs off because i feel as though the sensation of my bones against the blanket would be better.

[cielhunternorwood]

Ran into this bugged enemy that apparently can't reach his designated spot for sleeping at night, so he just paces back and forth.

[mimiriko]

i want to play with cannibalism and geto