Yay For Whumpee Simon!! I Love Whumpee Simon

Yay for whumpee Simon!! I love whumpee Simon

whumperless whump event day 8: put your head on my shoulder! @whumperless-whump-event

migraine / light & sound sensitivity / “i can close the curtains…”

see this post for character information!

caretaker: Archie

whumpee: Simon

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“Simon! I’m here and I have the takeout!” Archie chirped, letting himself into his friend’s apartment. It felt odd not crashing through the window for once.

As he passed the threshold, he was caught a bit off guard by the.. silence.

Simon was not a loud person, not at all, but he always at least had some kind of music playing or TV show on, and he even sometimes hummed his way through tasks around his home.

No, this eery quiet was wrong. It felt off.

“Simon? Did you hear me? I’m here and I have your food! The sooner you get your butt out here, the sooner we get to have our Star Wars marathon!” He repeated, putting a little volume behind his voice.

Then, he heard it. An unmistakeable groan coming from Simon’s bedroom.

“Simon..?”

He set down the bags of takeout on Simon’s small table in the kitchen and padded over to the bedroom door. He tapped a knuckle against it.

“Simon?? I know you’re in thereeee,” Archie teased.

Nothing. No response. Not even a groan like before.

“Dude, if you don’t say something, I’m coming in."

A beat.

Then 2.

“Alright, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Archie murmured, before pushing open the door.

Suddenly, everything made a little bit more sense.

Illuminated by the afternoon light streaming through Simon’s windows, he opened the door to the sight of his friend curled up in bed, every pillow and blanket pulled around his head. 

He let out a pathetic grunt.

“Could you talk any louder?” Simon muttered, pulling the bedding tighter.

Archie breathed a soft laugh as everything clicked. When he spoke again, he lowered his voice to a whisper.

“How long have you have your migraine so far?” He asked, ignoring Simon’s hostile tone and sitting beside him on the bed.

“…A few hours now..” He mewled, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“That’ll do it,” Archie huffed. “Why aren’t your curtains closed? Can’t imagine the light is helping much..”

“Couldn’t.. I couldn’t get up to close them..” Simon breathed, shuddering at the thought of leaving his cocoon of pillows.

Archie let out another breathy laugh. “And you get angry at me for not calling when I need help..” He murmured, getting up and taking care to shut every curtain tightly. He could see Simon visibly deflate as the piercing light finally let up.

“… I’m sorry..” He said, voice muffled by the pillows.

“Hm?”

Simon lifted his head slightly.

“I’m sorry.. for snapping earlier.. and for ruining the movie marathon..” He whispered.

Archie felt his heart clench in a way that he would have to decipher another time. No, for now, he just sat beside his friend and placed a warm hand on his back.

“Don’t worry. This just means we’ll take a rain check, and the next marathon will be twice as long.”

Simon let out an annoyed groan, but there was no heat behind it. In truth, he couldn’t be more excited.

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hey so I'm gonna send a lil prompt

You don't have to answer it of course but it's been rolling around in my head for a while and I doubt I'LL write it since I don't know how you feel about fanfics

so I figured

why not put it in your askbox just for the sake of it

The idea is that at some point, Archie goes to Simon's apartment for either a minor injury (really just an excuse to see him) or something that's kind of serious but can be delt with pretty easily. Basically anything that isn't fatal and wouldn't be fatal even without intervention. When he gets there he sees that Simon is clearly MUCH worse off than him for whatever reason and now they're BOTH fussing over each OTHER and fighting over who gets taken care of by the other

Definitely a whumpee-turned-caretaker/caretaker-turned-whumpee situation. I don't know I just think it'd be fun but if you're busy or something that's totally cool I just wanted to show it to you

HI ANON!!!!! like i said in a previous post, i will literally give you my firstborn child if you ever make a fanfic for my boys. i dont think you understand how thrilled i would be. you are ALWAYS welcome to write about my guys!!

anyways, heres a little prompt fill!!! it ended up being more about the fluff than it did about the fighting over who should be fussed over so i hope thats okay!! simon being cuddly when hes feverish is one of my favorite traits i gave him. i hope you enjoy too!!

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In hindsight, the cut on his leg really wasn’t too bad.

Archie was about ninety-nine percent sure he would have been able to suture it himself. He saw it done more times than he could count, and the wound itself was neat and shallow, though bleeding profusely. Wouldn’t have taken him more than twenty minutes.

But he really missed Simon.

Simon had been swamped with exams and lab practicals and volunteer hours for the last week and a half. The poor guy had 2 hours a day to himself if he was lucky. Archie made himself scarce to not add more to his plate, of course, but it had been three days.

He figured a little pit stop couldn’t hurt. Even though it was well past midnight, Archie knew Simon had finished his last final in the afternoon because he texted him that he was going to knock out, and then went radio silent.

It had been seven hours since then. Simon was definitely awake by now.

So that’s how Archie ended up silently slipping through Simon’s kitchen window, a common practice for him, angling his leg just right so as to not drip blood all over his floor. 

All the lights were off. Weird.

He shut the window gently behind him and padded into the living room, squinting as his eyes started adjusting to the dark.

Suddenly, a lamp flicked on and Archie nearly died of a heart attack then and there.

He blinked at the sudden brightness and was greeted by.. Simon?

His friend was slowly sitting up from the couch, head still lowered as he viciously scrubbed the sleep from his eyes. There was a mess of blankets and pillows surrounding him as he propped himself up on his forearms. 

Had he been sleeping?

“Archie?” His voice was rough. He blinked blearily, hair mussed from sleep. “What are you doing here?”

Simon’s gaze lowered to the bright red stain on Archie’s leg and he jolted a little bit. 

“Oh. I see. Come sit down, I’ll--” He was cut off by a soft yawn-- “take a look at it.”

Simon went to grab the suturing kit that was already on the coffee table from the last time Archie stopped by, but his hand slipped and he nearly toppled over. Archie rushed to catch him.

Something was not right.

Simon was never one to be this groggy. He was the kind of person that could go from dead asleep to awake and alert in a matter of seconds. He hardly ever had a “wake-up” period, and he was certainly never this out of it.

When Archie helped Simon back to sitting, he frowned at the unnatural heat he felt beneath his palms.

“Simon? Are you okay?” He cupped his cheek and stifled a hiss at the burning, fevered skin.

“You’re burning up!" Archie exclaimed.

He should have known something was up when Simon didn't text him after his nap. He suddenly felt a bit guilty. "I'm sorry for waking you, I should have called first. You should be sleeping.”

Simon shook his head, but it only succeeded in making him dizzier. “Mmh. I’m fine. You’re the one bleeding. Just sit down, would you?”

“No way. This--” Archie motioned to his leg-- “can wait. You’re sick. You’re exhausted. You need rest. I'll get you some medicine and some tea, okay?"

“Just sit down. You're dripping blood. I can still suture. I’m fine. I can practically do it with my eyes closed.” He looked up at Archie again in a hazy way that made him not want to test that theory.

Still, Archie knew Simon well enough to know that he wouldn’t back down, especially not while mildly delirious from fever. He had to improvise.

He made a show of sighing and sitting down as if he resigned to Simon’s orders, but then, when his guard was down, he reached over and snatched the suturing kit from Simon’s trembling hands.

“Hey!” He shouted, but it came out as more of a whine. He was too disoriented to do anything about it anyways.

“Shush. How about I let you sit here with me while I do suture myself, y’know, so you can supervise, as long as you promise to let me get you to bed when I’m done.”

Simon peered up at Archie with glassy, fever-bright eyes and finally relented.

“Fine.”

Archie smiled. Admittedly, he was very pleased with his small victory. He sat back on the couch, beside Simon, and propped up his leg.

He pulled out the pre-threaded needle and hemostats and got to work.

The process was actually relatively easy. Archie practically memorized how it looked when Simon did it, so it was no trouble at all. He fell into the rhythm of threading, looping, anf knotting.

He only faltered the smallest bit when he felt the weight of Simon chin settle on his shoulder. In the corner of his eye, he could see Simon was flagging. He was more exhausted than he was letting on. He was blinking slowly and lazily, gradually nuzzling further and further into the side of Archie’s neck.

By the time Archie finished the last knot, Simon was nearly a deadweight on him. Archie's heart clenched.

“Alright sleeping beauty. Let’s get you to bed, m’kay?” He murmured, replacing the items in the suturing kit and carefully getting up to crouch in front of Simon in an offer of a piggy back ride.

Simon was not one to decline.

It took Archie a bit longer because of the throbbing pain in his leg, but he eventually got Simon tucked into his bed with a damp washcloth on his chest and forehead. 

Just as Archie was leaving to go find the ibuprofen, he heard the smallest, saddest sound come from the bundle of blankets.

“You’re leaving..?”

Archie thought he might die right there. 

He all but dashed back to Simon’s bedside and cupped his face. “No. No, of course not. Not when you’re feeling this sick. I just wanted to get you some medicine. I’ll be right back.”

Simon just averted his hazy eyes and huffed a small whimper. “Stay? Please?”

Archie bit his lip in contemplation, but his mind was made up before the question even made its way out of Simon’s mouth. 

He kicked off his shoes and crawled under the covers next to Simon, who scooted over to make room, and pulled him into an all-consuming embrace. 

Simon melted easily into it, letting his head fall on Archie’s chest. Even in his foggy state of mind, he made sure to be careful of Archie’s injured leg as he wrapped himself around him. 

Finally, he felt like he could breathe again after such a hellish week.

Archie rubbed up and down his spine, reveling in how the tension in Simon’s muscles melted away with each pass.

Medicine would have to wait. For now, this was far more effective.

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Whumperless Whump Event Day 5

Wheezing - whumpee Morrigan - 978 words

CW: panic attacks

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There is something in their lungs.

Morrigan is not programmed to panic. Unless it's on command, or necessary for the sake of appearance, they are not supposed to freak out. A level head and calm tones are perfect for dangerous situations. It is part of what keeps them away from the company–that they function as intended. 

However, they are panicking. 

It feels like… spiderwebs. Like something has built a nest in their artificial chest and all of the fans and cooling systems have become cluttered with the dust of its new resident. It feels like they are choking.

Which is why they're now standing in front of Jace's apartment, with the key he gave to them not even a week prior.

They knock. An error flashes onto their vision. It's a warning, low oxygen content. Soon enough, their cooling system are going to start complaining too. Overheating is a problem.

This whole thing is a problem, and the feeling of discomfort in their chest is making their hands shake as they push the key into the lock.

Morrigan has no god but the ones that put them together. But they pray to whatever is out there to let Jace be at home.

“Woah, hey, terminator, what's–Morrigan? What's wrong?” Jace's face drops the moment he sees them. Concern is a rare expression for him, when he's speaking to them in particular.

They must be genuinely panicking now. “I can't breathe.”

“What? Come here, sit down, is it a technical thing? Why did you come to me?”

They are guided to the bed and the next breath they take is a horribly mechanical wheezing thing. But they run yet another diagnosis and their lungs are undamaged and unencumbered and they don't understand, they don't–

“Hey–Morrigan, you're psyching yourself out, you gotta relax.”

“I'm not supposed to–” they try to say, and their voice is glitched and wrong and they can feel Jace flinching away from him. “Sorry, I don't–know what's wrong.”

“You're alright. I think you're freaking out, is there something else? Did you check for, I dunno, a virus or some shit? Or–”

“No. Not a virus. Just.”

There’s nothing left to do. There are no errors. No abnormalities within their lungs, no differences in their cooling systems, but they cannot breathe and the only person there to help is someone who hates them more than anything else in the world.

Something grabs their hands.

At first they flinch, but the grip is strong and unmoving and grounding. Jace’s. He’s there. They are not alone.

“I don’t know how you breathe but I’ll give it my best shot, in for four beats, I’ll count. Come on. Hey. Breathe in for four.”

They try to follow. It catches, and wheezes out all in one breath, in one horrid mechanical jerk.

“Again. Let’s try again. One, two, three, four, good, you’re doing great, now hold it for seven counts. It’s okay. It’s alright.”

They don’t make it to seven, it rushes out of their lungs, but something in their head is clearing, somehow, and Jace doesn’t seem afraid anymore. Just concerned.

Concerned for them. That’s… new.

“Let’s go again. Good. Hold for seven counts, then breathe out for eight. You’re doing fantastic.”

The cycle continues. Jace’s hands stay tight around theirs, his eyes level and calm, his voice soothing something inflamed deep in their chest. He… cares. Cares enough. Why does he care? Jace has no stake in this, could have just let them die, let them suffocate at his doorstep like a broken machine.

“--why?” they finally say, once his calm demeanor has shifted to something more like pride.

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” he grins, all freckles and dimples and sunshine. “Why what? Why couldn’t you breathe? I think it was a panic attack, I get ‘em sometimes. It’s fine. Counting helps.”

“Why are you helping me?” 

It stumbles out like the wheezing of their breath, disjointed and hardly human. Jace doesn’t look away. He seems… the crook of his eyebrows, downturning of his shoulders, slight flush on his cheeks, he seems ashamed. Guilty. “I wasn’t gonna let you suffer, Morrigan. I’m not that bad.”

“You hate me,” they say, simply. 

He huffs. “No, I don’t. I’m just… human. Messy. Complicated. I don’t like change, you’re a new thing, it’s complex. I’m sorry I made you think that.”

They try to see past the lie. To put together the pieces of the past, the glares, the imbalance, how Morrigan would push down their own posture to give him the head of the scene, to give him all of the power in play, but for all of their training, they cannot deny the truth. Jace Vela Journey is telling them the truth.

“I’m sorry I scare you,” Morrigan manages. “I don’t–I tried not to, but it’s not easy when people know what I am.”

“It’s fine. You just came into my house hyperventilating. Seems pretty human to me.”

Morrigan can’t help the eyebrow raise. That’s the first time anyone has referred to them as human-like outside of the purpose they’re built for, the tool they have to be. “If that’s human, I am sorry for every single one of you.”

Jace just laughs. “So are we, Morri. That’s pretty universal. You should take a break though, it’s not like you’re fine now. Just relax.”

“What did you call me?” 

“Uh.” Jace winces. “Morri? Like Morrigan shortened? If that’s not cool, I get it, I’ll go back to giving you robot nicknames–”

“It’s fine,” Morrigan is quick to reassure. “I don’t mind. It’s new, but not unwelcome.”

“Cool. Call me JJ, then?” 

It feels like a truce. A contract. When their alliance breaks a little bit from tenuousness and into something stronger. “Alright, JJ. Thank you.”

He grins, flashes a thumbs up. “Don’t mention it. Take your shoes off, stay a while.”

--

a teensy insight into their rocky relationship starting to fix itself. also origin of the nicknames!!!

I want to watch ten seasons of this

You're known by many names, but they all point to one trait you've held all these years: your enemies have never seen you bleed. Your secret? A pinch of illusion magic that hides all the scars and wounds, allowing you to intimidate your foes, even on your last legs.

I know I usually just reblog whump stuff but this is too good

You have a completely useless superpower in a world full of amazing superpowers. You have been a laughing-stock for years, until you started using your powers for evil… nobody is laughing now.

I love them :)

whumperless whump event day 11: a minor annoyance @whumperless-whump-event

stuffy nose / hate to be sick / “i'm fine, i can work.”

see this post for character information!

caretaker: Archie

whumpee: Simon

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It was when Simon turned away from suturing to sneeze for the fourth time in just five minutes, that Archie figured he should say something.

“Simon, are you.. okay?” Archie asked, wincing as the needle entered his skin once again.

“Yes.”

There was a beat of awkward silence.

Archie squirmed.

“I just.. I mean.. you look a little flushed, is all. Are you sure?” He repeated.

Simon sniffled, breath hitching as he turned away to sneeze again, but this time it was a fit that left him doubled over, face buried in his elbow. He wordlessly got up and grabbed a fistful of tissues, viciously scrubbing at his face until he pulled away with a miserable guh.

“..Some kid sneezed on me last week.” He finally admitted, making his way back over to Archie and plunking down next to him, lifting his needle and thread. “I’ll live.”

His usually deadpan demeanor was now obstructed by the ridiculous nasal tone his voice took on, and Archie stifled a giggle.

“I think you should be in bed anyways.”

Simon shook his head and finished up the last stitch on Archie’s arm. “Can’t. I work tomorrow. We’re understaffed, they needed volunteers.

“Simon, respectfully, you are a walking germ right now. If you did, go into work, I guarantee they’d send you home within a few seconds of looking at you.” 

As if to prove Archie’s point, Simon pitched forward with another pathetic sneeze, barely having enough time to shove his face into the crook of his elbow.

Archie cooed sympathetically, reaching up a hand to rub his back.

“You must really be feeling sick, huh?” He murmured, handing him a bundle of tissues.

Simon accepted the offer gratefully, swiping at his nose once again and tossing the soiled tissues into the wastebasket. When he looked back up at Archie, his eyes were watery and irritated and his nose was now rubbed raw. The sight made Archie melt, and he got up, drawing Simon to his chest.

Simon didn’t complain. Instead, he let out a soft, settled sigh and leaned into the embrace. He had long since decided he wasn't going into work.

“M’gonna get snot on you.”

“That’s fine. How many times have I gotten blood all over you?”

“True.”

“Now, lets get you to bed, okay? I’ll make some tea.”

“With honey?”

“Yes. With honey.”

Simon hummed contentedly, letting his eyes slip closed in his friend’s arms. Yeah, work could wait another day or two.

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