#whumpcember day11

[ex0rin]

Whumpcember 2022 - Day 11

@whumpcember Day 11: Clothing that doesn't fit winterbones (past) - 715 words Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Helmut Zemo, Brock Rumlow (past), Steve Rogers (mentioned) emotional whump, panic attacks, very brief kissing implied, not me mentioning my other fics in my current writing or anything

gif by me (I made it)!

It's not that it doesn't fit, not really, it's just that Bucky's forgotten how to wear it.

The leather, mesh, and hard plastic forms to his face in all the same ways - tight along his jaw, snug over his mouth and nose, covering his ears and clipped right around the back of his head without the long length of his hair getting in the way, without it getting pinched and torn between the fastenings.   

He brings his fingertips up to touch along the seam, along the edge where the black of it cuts in just below his chin before he follows the line of it around his throat to the back of his neck; he presses against the clasps at the back, seamless little things that he wouldn’t know how to undo himself even if he tried right now - he’d only ever learned how to rip it off, how to have it ripped off –

His metal hand reaching up, fingers shoving beneath the material to wrench it away from his face before throwing it down, crossing the space between him and… and his handler to collide them together, all desperation and panic and need at the first rolling drop of blood down along the other man’s face, the cut that he caused; teeth and tongue and desire all clawing up from his throat, all answered and matched by his handler –  

And then, so much later –

Ste… his target’s shield against his face, a warm palm moving to replace the bright pain it leaves behind - fingertips catching, digging in under the fabric to touch his chin before he’s in the air and there’s the sound of his mask clattering down against concrete, cold along his chin and cheeks from uncovered skin and sweat; a quiet, helpless word cutting through all the background noise –

“Bucky?”  

He struggles through a harsh, shuddering inhale - the sound of it is muffled by the thick material and he swallows back the low, pained noise that's building up near the back of his throat. 

"You don't need to do this," Sam says.

He'd forgotten he had an audience - Sam, watching him with concerned eyes and Zemo, who’d brought them here, who’d handed him the mask like it’d been nothing more than an afterthought all ready and waiting to lock him back inside the focused quiet of it with the first easy excuse. 

Bucky blinks slow, carefully letting the bright lights of Madripoor filter back in and finds Zemo standing closer than he’d realized. 

The other man’s mouth is a smile, there’s a shine to his dark eyes that Bucky remembers. 

They are in no way comparable, his old handler and this one - the first to use the words on him in decades, to use him for his intended purpose without compromise but his breath still catches and his chest tightens at how terrifyingly and achingly familiar the way Zemo is looking at him feels - like if he let his eyes go unfocused just a little more he’d be able to see Rumlow again. 

Rumlow who’d been the first soft touch after years of violence. 

The Commander who’d given him orders and made sure he’d followed them with a firm hand but who’d slowly and methodically unclipped his uniform, taking care with the pieces and the body underneath - who’d patched him up with calloused hands and soft words, who’d learned Russian just to praise him.

“Khoroshiy soldat” against his ear and –

Sam’s hand touches his back which is how he knows that he’s shaking, trembling through what must be another panic attack that he didn’t even notice starting up - the tightness of his harness, already in place doing nothing to ease it off like it used to.

“I’m taking it off,” Sam starts and he sees the way Zemo’s lips pull down into a frown, the other man’s mouth opening, “no,” Sam bites out, stopping whatever smooth, convincing words Zemo might have said, “he’s not wearing it.” 

There’s a pause, long enough for the clasps at the back to pull open again - the mask falls from Bucky’s face and into his hands and it doesn’t help to even out his breathing at all.

“It doesn’t fit him anymore.” is what Sam says. 

But Bucky knows that it could for the right handler.

[firealder2005]

Whumpcember 2022 Day. 11 CLOTHING THAT DOESN’T FIT

Featuring: Pre-Relationship ReyRose! Not Kylo Ren Friendly! Allusions to a what-could-have-been father-daughter relationship between Rey & Luke!

AND LESBIANS!! WHO DOESN’T LOVE SPACE LESBIANS!!!

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43517745

Enjoy!

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

“Who knows, maybe this’ll be a good place for a base.” Rose said to her companion, little puffs of air leaving her mouth and drifting through the cold, winter air.

Rey smiled, though it was a little tight.

Even though a few months had passed since the Battle of Crait, Rey could still feel that gaping hole inside her that Master Skywalker’s presence had once been.

True, they hadn’t had much time together, and she hadn’t been able to learn as much as she had hoped, but she still felt his loss as strongly as she felt her own parents’.

Ren’s words echoed through her mind: They were drunkards. They sold you for drinking money.

She clenched her fists and her face set into a scowl.

You’re nothing. But not to me.

Next time she saw him, she was going to slap him.

Or punch him.

She hadn’t decided which one would be more satisfying.

The actual nerve he had to act like he would care. The lying, manipulative, son of a bantha!

Rey snorted, drawing Rose’s attention.

“You okay?” she asked, rubbing the Jedi padawan’s shoulder. Rey just shrugged. She didn’t know who to talk to about what happened with Ren.

Luke was gone. Leia was busy running the Resistance as well as trying to teach Rey what little she knew of the Jedi. She hardly knew Poe. And Finn…he was her best friend, but she didn’t want to burden him with more to worry about.

“Is it about Master Skywalker?” Rose asked, still looking concerned, and Rey let a small smile onto her expression. Nearly on the mark.

Maybe she could start talking about this one thing…Rose wouldn’t gossip about it, that’s for sure.

“Kinda…” Rey hesitantly said. “It’s like…I feel like in another lifetime, we could have been closer. But now that he’s gone…there’s just this hole in me. Or maybe it got larger. It’s been there since my parents left me on Jakku. I guess Luke’s death just made it wider.”

Rose pulled her arm around Rey’s shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “I know the feeling,” she confessed. “Paige and I lost our parents when we were young, but we found a place in the Resistance. But when she died…I felt so lost. And I felt her absence so badly.” Rose’s brown eyes glistened, and Rey put her own arm around Rose’s shoulders, wanting to provide the same comfort the other girl was giving her.

“I still feel it,” Rose continued as they trekked through the snow. “And it still hurts. But it helps that I’m still here, still fighting with the Resistance, for what we both believed in. And after…I don’t know what I’ll do, but I know she’ll be proud of me no matter what.”

Rose glanced at Rey and gave a small smile. “I’m sure Master Skywalker is watching over you, even if you never had time to form an actual bond with each other. I’m sure he believes you can finish what he - and the rest of the Jedi - started.”

This time Rey let a full smile split across her face.

Looks like she could count on Rose for help.

“And…well…” Rey began. “There’s something else that’s bothering me.”

Rose gave her a pat on the back. “Whatever it is, my lips are sealed.” she mimed zipping her lips and throwing the key into the nearby river. Rey let out a small laugh, and continued; “When I went to confront Ren, you know he killed Snoke and we fought.”

At Rose’s head nod, she went on; “But something else happened - he asked me to join him.” Rose let out a startled gasp, but let Rey continue. “He said he knew what happened to my parents,” Rey clenched her left right hand into a fist. “He said that they sold me for drinking money. That they were nothing, and I was the same.”

Rose looked outraged, but still, Rey went on; “But then he said I wasn’t nothing, not to him.”

“That bastard !” Rose exclaimed angrily. “He has no right to call you nothing! Even if your parents did do such a thing - which we don’t know for sure, because I sure am not taking his word on it! - who your parents are doesn't define you!” Rose waved her arms around. “I mean, just look at Master Skywalker and General Organa! Their father was Darth Kriffing Vader , and they are one of the most steadfast believers and fighters in democracy and the light! It’s completely mental!”

Rey then was bundled into a bear-hug by Rose, and she hugged her back.

“I hope you’re not letting him get to you,” Rose murmured into her ear. “You aren’t nothing - you’re my friend. And that is definitely not nothing!” Rey chuckled at her lightened tone.

“Thanks Rose,” she gratefully said. “You’re a big help.”

“No problem,” Rose replied as they began to carefully trek down to the river’s edge. “Always glad to talk smack about Ren.”

The two girls shared a laugh, but Rey cut hers short as a small crack came from under her foot. She jumped, looking down at the ice she just stepped on, and her foot slipped.

“Rey!” she heard Rose call as she pinwheeled her arms, trying to regain her balance, but she then plunged into the ice-cold river water.

For a moment, Rey was submerged, but then her feet touched the bottom of the river, and she was able to kick her way back up.

Thank the Force it hadn’t been any deeper, since she wasn’t the strongest swimmer out there.

“Rey!” she heard Rose shout again as she broke the surface, coughing slightly. “Here, grab my hand!” Reaching blindly, Rey managed to grab Rose’s outstretched hand and was pulled back onto dry land.

She shivered, clutching at her clothes, but they seemed rather tight now…

“Oh, shoot!” Rose exclaimed as she hurried pulled a blanket out of her pack. “Your clothes are made of bantha wool, aren’t they?”

“Y-yes,” Rey shivered. “W-why does it m-matter?”

“Well…” Rose sucked in some breath between her teeth. “Cotton shrinks. Moreso in warm water, but it does in cold water too.”

“Oh no.”

“But don’t worry!” Rose assured as she dug into her pack again. “I thought to bring a couple jackets with me! Here,” she pulled out a large jacket. “Put that on, and I’ll call in a pick-up. We can’t let you stay out here soaking wet in the cold - you could get hypothermia.”

Rey sighed, but resigned herself for a stay in the medical bay.

At least Rose would be with her.

[sylvanfreckles]

Day 11: Accidental Injury (Alt 4)

Part 11 of Deck the Hells

Fandom: Critical Role Rating: T Warnings: Broken bones

Summary: Her arm twisted over the rim of the well and something gave with a terrible crack. (Read on AO3)

...

Imogen wrapped the rope more securely around her forearm and braced her feet against the side of the well. She told herself she had the easy part—she was just holding the (admittedly heavy) bucket. Ashton, on the other side of the well, was supporting Orym’s weight as the halfling scraped up samples of moss and fungi that were growing on the walls of the well and loading them into the bucket.

Their contact in Yios was always willing to pay good money for any samples they could take from the dilapidated structures in and around the Gloomed Jungles. The elderly orc, who reminded them all of Lord Eshteross, just a little bit, had expressed a particular interest in moss and fungi, which was why Orym was sixteen feet down the well scraping weird purple mushrooms off the crumbling stonework.

“Doing okay down there?” she called mentally. They still had a few more minutes of contact left, so his reply came easily.

“Plenty of the purple stuff,” Orym said in her head. “Stonework down here is pretty loose. I can get some soil, too.”

“Ask him if he’s found any bones,” Ashton called. They shrugged when Imogen shot them a look. “Creepy abandoned well in a creepy abandoned settlement…there’s probably bones.”

“Damnit.” Orym’s voice echoed up in her head. “Tell Ash the rope’s stuck.”

“He says the rope’s stuck,” Imogen repeated. When Ashton shot her a look she shrugged back.

Ashton let out a dramatic sigh and tugged on the rope. Their brow creased in a frown when it didn’t budge, and they tugged again.

“Hang on, it’s caught on a cross beam. Tell them to hold on.”

“Ashton?” Imogen raised her voice to be heard over their muttered cursing. “Now Orym says—”

“Got it!” Ashton gave another vicious pull and the rope snapped free. Imogen heard Orym’s muted cry of shock before a heavy weight suddenly wrenched at her arm.

She yelped as she was tugged toward the well, managing to drop to her knees before she could be pulled into it. Her arm twisted over the rim of the well and something gave with a terrible crack. Pain sparked through her vision, her stomach clenched, and the rope slipped through her numb fingers.

“Fuck it all!” Ashton was already by her side, leaning over her to snag the rope before it could slip away. “You good?” they asked, hand on her back.

“I don’t…I don’t know,” Imogen stammered. Her arm was pulsing, twisting in red-hot pain.

Ashton swore. They looped one arm around her waist and half-turned to move her away from the well so they could focus on hauling Orym out. “Letters! We got a problem!”

Imogen curled around her arm, panting into the faded grass. Something was terribly, horribly wrong. Bruises were already blossoming up and down her forearm, and her thumb stuck out at a weird angle. From elbow to fingertip everything was just agony, and if she tried to move the pain spiked all the way to her shoulder.

“Oh dear! Oh, Imogen!” The creak of metal announced Fresh Cut Grass’s arrival at her side. “Oh, your poor arm.”

“Can you,” she gasped. “Can you…heal it?”

“I’ll try. Can I see?”

She nodded, though she couldn’t hold back a cry of pain when they very gently probed at the disfigured joint. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Ashton pulling Orym out of the well, along with the bucket.

She knew what had happened. When his rope snapped, Orym had grabbed onto the bucket rather than risk the fall to the unknown depths of the well.

That didn’t make her arm any less broken.

“I can heal this, but I need to set it first,” Fresh Cut Grass announced. “Want me to get Laudna?”

Imogen shook her head, not wanting to trouble her friend with this, but Launda was already running toward them.

“What happened?” Laudna demanded. She sat down and gently pulled Imogen’s head into her lap. “Who did this?”

“I think it was an accident,” Fresh Cut Grass began.

“I don’t care! Who hurt you, darling?” Laudna leaned over Imogen, her dark hair hiding their faces from the world around them.

Imogen managed a trembling smile and brushed Laudna’s cheek with the fingers of her good hand. “It really was an accident,” she promised. Then FCG touched something on her wrist, and she groaned as pain lanced up to her shoulder and turned her face toward Laudna, away from her mangled arm.

“My poor girl,” Laudna crooned. She gently ran her fingers through Imogen’s hair, curling around her to keep her steady as Fresh Cut Grass prodded at her injury. “Don’t worry. We’ll fix your arm up in no time.”

“I’m gonna need—Ashton!” Fresh Cut Grass leaned away from them to wave down their friend. “I need your help?”

Imogen whimpered and burrowed closer to Laudna. The pain was setting off that migraine that always seemed to wait at the back of her mind, looking for the right moment to be unleashed. She barely heard them talking—something about Ashton setting her arm while FCG cast the spell—and tried to focus on Laudna’s soothing voice.

“I’m so sorry,” Orym said from somewhere nearby. Imogen didn’t want to look up, but she reached out with her good hand and flailed around until the halfling caught it.

“Just an accident,” she choked out.

“Yeah, but…”

“If you don’t accept her forgiveness, you’ll never have mine,” Laudna announced. Imogen had to smile at her friend’s logic. If Imogen was determined to forgive whoever caused the accident, then in Laudna’s book they should count themselves forgiven and be grateful.

“Mostly that bucket,” Imogen added faintly. “Weighs…more than you.”

“Yeah, probably,” Orym agreed. He squeezed her hand gently before shifting it back to Laudna’s.

The crunch of footsteps signaled Ashton’s return. “Okay, we ready for this?” they asked, crouching down and resting a hand on Imogen’s good shoulder. She nodded as Laudna took her hand and tucked her head against Laudna’s side.

Ashton took hold of her arm at the elbow and wrist and Imogen bit back another moan of pain. Then they shifted and pulled and twisted and for a split-second the world was nothing but blinding, white pain…then the warmth of a healing spell flowed over and into her arm and washed the pain away.

She lay panting in Laudna’s lap as Fresh Cut Grass gently manipulated her arm and shunted a little more healing into it. “Thank you, FCG,” she whispered.

“You should probably rest it the rest of the day,” they replied. “Here, let me get you something to wrap it up in.”

She nodded, though they didn’t see it as they were already off on their errand. Imogen let out a sigh and relaxed as Laudna ran a hand through her hair again. “Can I just stay here for a while?”

“Of course, darling,” Laudna replied. “Whatever you want.”

[its-my-whump]

Whumpcember2023 Day 11 - Infection

@whumpcember

Waking up, was always so much worse. It felt like days, at least hours must have passed and that he should be feeling better by now.

A desperate look at his watch and all hope was gone. It was still the same day, no worse, only 23 minutes had passed.

He felt worse than 23 minutes ago. His muscles were weak, but hurt like he had overdone it with his workout. His head was hot and foggy, thoughts turned into mush a moment after their arrival.

His clothes were soaked, his skin clammy, but he was cold nonetheless. Actually, he was freezing under the warm blanket.

Foolishly, he had never believed, that actually being cold, when the body was burning with a fever of 104 was more than a myth.

No, it surely was a real thing, he knew by now.

whumpcember masterlist

[starliight-whump]

Infection - James and Harrison

@whumpcember day 11: infection

Shivers wracked James' body. He was so so cold, yet his face felt warm and flushed. To add to his misery, James felt dizzy and had a horrible headache which mingled together with the pain from the wounds inflicted by Harrison. That was the source, James was sure of it. The familiar symptoms indicated a fever, and even though the cuts and lacerations were hidden by clothes and bandages so he couldn't see for sure, James was sure at least one of them had gotten infected. Wouldn't be surprising since the environment he was in definitely wasn't sterile. Neither were the tools Harrison used, though he seemed to be good at keeping them clean.

The door opened and James winced as Harrison stepped inside. “Please no… I don't feel good…” He mumbled and squeezed his eyes shut. No more pain, not today when he was feeling so awful already.

“No?” Harrison chuckled. “You know you don't get to say n- oh… You really don't look good.” Slight surprise filled Harrison’s voice and James flinched as he placed a hand on his forehead. The expected pain didn't come, though. Harrison’s skin just felt colder than usual against his.

“Damn, you're really warm. Seems like you're running a fever. Sit up, I need to check if any of your wounds are infected.”

Huh? James opened his eyes slowly. The words didn't quite make sense. This wasn't really what he would've expected from his captor.

“I said sit up!” Harrison got impatient and pulled him up in a sitting position. The movement hurt and his head spun, making James whimper. He didn't want to sit up, it hurt too much and he was so tired. Still, he knew better than to argue with Harrison when he started taking off his shirt and unwrapping his bandages. It confused him, though. Why would Harrison care this much if he got sick?

“Ah, that’s probably the one. I’ll clean that, and the rest while I’m at it. Will try to get some antibiotics as well.” Harrison explained and stepped away.

James looked up at him from behind heavy eyelids. “Why do you care if I’m sick?” He mumbled, confused.

“I’m not gonna let you die from infection, James. When you die it will be because I want you dead and I’ll do it myself.”

“Oh...” James wasn't sure how to feel about that. It was a relief that Harrison was gonna let him die, but it definitely seemed that Harrison had plans to kill him one day.

taglist:

@mirasmirages @darkredrevolution

[alexversenaberrie]

[sanitatemsss]

Whumpcember 2022 Day 11

@whumpcember

Fandom: marvel, clint centric

Warnings: references to past child abuse

Prompt: Day 11 - clothing that doesn't fit