someone coming down with a fever because their body has finally decided itâs had enough. they feel completely drained and exhausted. their eyelids are heavy and their head is pounding. they can feel heat radiating from their own body beneath the blankets, yet theyâre shivering at the same time. they press a pillow against their chest, searching for some kind of comfort, wishing someone was there to hold them. with trembling fingers, they grab their phone and open the first conversation they see. the bright screen makes their eyes hurt. "hey, can you come over, please..? i donât feel well". they type the message and hit send.
Yeah yeah hurt/comfort, injury, blood, broken bones, literally peak. But WHY are they always unconscious?? Hm??
I need my protagonist to HOLD DOWN THAT INJURED GUY while stitching his wounds or setting a bone or whatever, I need that guy WHIMPERING on the floor, begging and flinching and gasping while the caretaker gently shushes them!!!
I can't have that when the giy!!! Is unconscios!!! WAAA
Prompts For When You Need A Whumpee To Fall Like A Sack Of Bricks
For when a slow and steady loss of consciousness doesn't quite cut it (but that's still good, don't get me wrong).
whumpee's still running on adrenaline when they bump into caretaker, nothing but smiles until they catch onto caretaker's horrified expression. they follow their gaze until they see the familiar stain of blood against their shirt. their shock drains the adrenaline from them, and before caretaker's even able to take a step forward their knees have buckled.
a sudden wound â a gunshot, a stabbing â and the pain lancing through them white-hot and agonizing. they're still processing what's happened to them, gaping like a fish out of water when they feel the ground slam into the side of their head. they're not sure when they fell, but every pulse pours out more red and reminds them over and over of why.
a caretaker running themselves ragged with just how many people are hurt or in need of them, unable to take a moment's rest for themselves. their vision starts to swim when they stand up but they ignore it, because it's not that bad yet and others have it worse. they're doing an excellent job pushing through, until they're suddenly not. their vision wavers a little stronger this time, and then into black, barely able to get out a surprised "oh" before they're on the ground.
bending down to grab something and not hearing the approach of someone from behind them. one moment, they're sifting through papers, a drawer, a cabinet â the next, there's a burst of horrible pain at the back of their skull and a deep, sudden darkness.
trying to climb out of bed after a broken fever â common sense tells them to stay in bed but they want a bath so badly. their body trembles the moment they move to stand, and they're barely upright for more than a few seconds before their weakened legs fold and they collapse in a pile of exhausted, aching limbs.
doing nothing, thinking of nothing until there's a bright surge of light and heat, white bleeding into black, so abrupt that it's not until they wake again that they even comprehend that anything happened to them.
friend seems to be saying something about their cat, but whumpee can't quite concentrate. the edges of them feel blurry and unformed.
they dig their nails into the tablecloth, the fabric rough and unpleasant, but somewhat grounding. blinking harshly, they try to settle back in their bones, but it proves to be a difficult feat.
"hey," friend says, drawing their attention. the absent-minded words have been replaced for something more concerned. their smile is gone. that's never a good sign, whumpee thinks from a place faraway.
"are you alright?" they say, trying to catch whumpee's eyes properly, "you haven't been answering anyone's calls... we are all really worried. you'll tell us if something is going on, right?"
and whumpee inhales sharply, the stale air like sharp pins in their lungs as a strange sense of vertigo overcomes them. nausea swells near the base of their throat as they rapidly swallow back the measly sips of coffee they had. it threatens to spill out right beside the plethora of words that fill their mouth, itching to get out, out, out.
but they breathe, and breathe some more. easy, they tell themself. easy. no one wants to know about your bullshit, something about that hurts. they are still not present enough. keep your mouth shut, a voice that sounds suspiciously like whumper's hisses through their thoughts.
they smile weakly at friend, raising their cup to their lips, "of course, I will. I'm okay," the words hurt, hurt, hurt, "don't worry about me."
there is no comfort to be found in the way their friend only seems to be worrying more throughout the rest of their meet-up.
when a character with medical trauma gets injured and has to be coaxed into letting someone else take care of them. when they have to be calmed down before their wounds can even be looked at. when the entire process of being treated is an exercise in agonizing vulnerability, because they have to trust someone else to care for them without hurting them. thatâs all thank you.
love it when whumpee is high as a kite on painkillers. their brain-to-mouth filter becomes non-existent.
caretaker is by their side, taking care of them as they babble and giggle and cry. caretaker tries not to let the things whumpee says get to them. a more honest idea of what happened to them is horrifying and heart-wrenching.
"oh, this doesn't hurtâ" a little giggle, "Before, I had to stay still and. there were, veryyy big needles, and it would make me cry. but then I'd get hurt. more."
"blankets? for me? why? but I won't die if I'm not warm!"
"no, no, let me stay on the floor! please don't hurt me, please, I'll be good, don't tellâ" choking on whumper's name, "âplease. I'll do anything."
"hey, do you think I'm broken?"
"c'n sl'p?" mumbling drowsily, "y'u c'n thr'w me o'ts'd aft'r!"
caretaker has to endeavour to make their voice gentle and unassuming, their responses soothing. they can't let their anger or their sadness show. they can't.
give that character who is usually so stoic a fever. make them softly beg for contact. Make them whimper and sob and plead for someone, anyone to stay. Stay with themâ they donât⊠Everything feels weird, and itâs safer with you, pleaseâ
The first days of recovery that follow a rescue, a traumatic event, a mission gone wrong, an illness... The vulnerability of it can come in different shapes:
Whumpee going non-verbal (they know Caretaker will understand them anyway).
Falling asleep anywhere and at any time: naps don't follow time rules anymore, couches, chairs, other people become the perfect bed for a rest.
Soft and large clothing. Nothing tight at their waist or neck. Big sweaters that smell like someone safe.
Occasional tears after a previous big big cryâą
Eating less and only because they have to. They feel nauseous, exhausted... sleep sounds like their only necessity.
Nightmares, confused dreams that leave whumpee sweaty and shaky, visions of alternate endings...
... cue Caretaker shushing them back to sleep, with a warm hand on their back or between their hair. They keep a dim light on, maybe they speak soft words until whumpee falls back asleep.
Speaking about lights, Whumpee who's afraid of the dark being surprised by a small night-light near the door after turning the lamp off for the night.
Getting used to sitting on the medical table in front of a doctor/nurse as their wounds are checked, bandages changed, blood drawn...
Warm baths. Caretaker helping Whumpee with slow and careful hands. They wash their hair, their hands and face, they disinfect their wounds and pay attention to all their bruises, they clean blood and dirt out of their skin until they look almost new.
No one asks anything from them. Their teammates are concerned, they ask whumpee if they need anything (another blanket, a cup of tea, some food, a hug) but they never give them tasks or jobs. Whumpee might feel useless but Caretaker never gets tired of assuring them that what they need right now is a good rest.
Medical staff accidentally triggering Whumpeeâs deepest trauma, my beloved. Doing things that are in Whumpeeâs best interest, and figuring out later on, oh. Thatâs why they freaked out, and feeling really guilty about it.
They didnât know that Whumpee had trauma around that word/procedure/attitude/tone of voice/object/etc. and were just doing their job, but in the process harmed Whumpee :(
The pure, primal fear Whumpee feels after so long in captivity/being tortured. Theyâre being rescued, Caretaker and their team approaching.
No, no, fuck. Noâ
Whumpee scrambles back, eyes wide and breaths shallow. âDonâtâ donât..â They stammer, every muscle tensed with adrenaline and fear. Too closeâ too close now! They scramble to the side, dodging past Caretaker and team and making a beeline for the door. They canât think, canât breathe canât anything when all they see is that door. Away from these people. Then suddenly theyâre on the floor and there are hands hands hands pulling at them and touching their face and patting their leg but they canât think of that. Just out. They need to get outâ up, away from them. They struggle and try and get up, hardly comprehending where they are, just that they have to get away.
Eventually, Whumpee is held down until whatever primal instinct that overtook them has gone, or at least softened. They are completely exhausted, eyes dazed, shaking like a leaf. Quiet. Like a subdued wild animal.
The caretaker is holding the whumpees head steady, their hands on either side of their face to keep the disorented whumpee still. To comfort them, they rest their forehead against the whumpees, whispering assurances.
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