Jaskier Whump 3/4
Physical Injury
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@too-exhausted
Jaskier Whump 3/4
Physical Injury
Smol Whumpee being swamped in Tol Caretaker’s long coat to shield them against the cold and snow
A character feeling unusually tired, but not extremely s- lile they dont feel like they’ll pass out- and they figure its just event x, y, and/or z from the day getting to them. They decide to sit down with a coffee/energy drink/snack to try and perk up for the remainder of their afternoon. They fall asleep sitting up or slump over and fall asleep after just deciding to shut their eyes for a minute.
They wake up 2 hours later flushed from sleep and disoriented with half their drink/food still waiting for them.
When Caretaker rests their hand against Whumpee’s cheek and Whumpee’s eyes slip closed as they lean trustingly into their touch? I feel that in my soul
Caretaker watches over Whumpee as they finally get the sleep they deserve. They listen to their breaths in the silence, noticing every little hitch and sniffle and snore. They watch their lashes flicker, their fingers twitch, the slow rise and fall of their chest, the softness in their face and Caretaker’s whole being aches with the need to protect this innocence and peace in them as long as they can.
This is no time to be posting but I couldn’t resist!
This is exchange (and sick jaskier) is from arliadevi’s amazing fic Companionship. Please go read it, it’s very good, very sweet, and from Ciri’s perspective.
Hope you like it <3
There’s something intimate about the caretaker supporting the whumpee’s head and peering with care and concern into their eyes to check their pupil response and/or see if they’re blown from a concussion. There should be more of that
Whump+Found Family
When the weakest one gets injured, and they all hover around them like mama hens, desperately trying to take care of them.
When the STRONGEST one gets injured, and they all flail around, trying to figure out how to take care of the one who always takes care of them.
When one character doesn’t realize they’ve been accepted into the family/think of themselves as outsides, until they get hurt and everyone takes shifts watching over them and taking care of them.
The Revenge for hurting one of their family.
Group cuddles after horrible days, where they all just pile up together in front of the couch.
One taking punishment for the whole group.
“Who did this to you?”
The recovery room being packed too tightly with people who love the whumpee and are worried.
Working together to carry the injured one.
“Why did you save me?” “That’s what family does.”
When one of them loses their voice, and the others have to try to guess what they mean.
Crying together.
The whole group just wrecking havoc in order to rescue their kidnapped teammate.
Aesthetic: Fainting
See also: Exhaustion, Passing Out From Pain, and Sudden Collapse. (I’m sorry, I am a simple woman with simple tastes.)
It doesn’t have to be because of pain. It doesn’t have to be due to exhaustion. In fact, there doesn’t have to be a reason at all.
But the world goes blurry. It gets dark around the edges. Colorful spots dance across their vision, slowly turning black. Their heart beats faster, their limbs get jittery. The world sways and they sway with it. Patches get clearer as others blur, until a dull ache rises in the back of their head.
They feel almost weightless - until they hit the floor.
Whumpee’s legs give out underneath them. Even though what they’re trying to reach is now in sight, so close, they can’t find the strength to get back up.
A is sprawled on the ground, breathless and trembling and too weak to move, but despite the pain they still force a smile up at B hovering over them.
“I…I knew you’d come…” they slur out lovingly, and B just sobs as they begin the process of saving A’s life.
I’m gonna say it. I don’t think there is anything quite as nice as a whumpee trying not to cry. You’ve got the chin tremble, the harsh swallows, the adverted and panicked gaze and then finally the sharp inhale as they try and hold their breath, but of course it doesn’t work and they finally break down regardless.
Let’s talk about wrists
Wrists, pinned by a larger hand to a rough brick wall above the whumpee’s head, squeezed tight in warning and in promise of future pain
Wrists, pinched by narrow bands of steel cinched quick and tight by careless brutality
Wrists, hung in tearing, bleeding suspension by thick, pitiless metal, bearing the whumpee’s entire weight
Wrists, bent and bent and bent until they snap
Wrists, bound to the arms of a chair, pinned and helpless
Wrists, scored raw by coarse rope, trickling bright red down the whumpee’s fingers as they tug and pull against their restraints in mindless, desperate fear
Wrists, cupped by shaking fingers and whispered reassurances as their bonds are broken with horrified care by the rescuer
Wrists, held in gentle, unconditional support during the throes of a nightmare or panic attack
Wrists, stroked by a cool cloth to bring relief
Wrists, circled by loving, tender fingers which rub soreness out of old scars
Have your whumpee lose consciousness when they’re in the middle of a hug.
(Bonus points if the one they’re hugging doesn’t realize the whumpee’s passed out until they’re limp, their legs are falling out from under them and they have to hurriedly tighten their hold to keep them up)
oh hey, welcome to the whump community. here’s your hurt, comfort, and complimentary bucket of blood.
And don’t forget the flower crown because deep down we’re all actually super sweet
Aesthetic: Curling Up
It is an instinctive reaction - for survival, to protect the weakest organs, but also for safety, that childish belief that burying your head in your knees will make you safe.
It won’t.
In the middle of a beating, giving up on fighting and curling up into a ball in panic and waiting it out.
As a response to pain, withdrawing from the situation, and curling up until they can breathe again, until the pain is no longer overwhelming.
As a fearful flinch, drawing back and curling away - from either the enemy or from a friend, memory writing over the present.
As a coping mechanism, curling to get away from the situation, to block it out, until the only thing they can hear is their own heartbeat.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” He whispered, dropping beside her bruised and lifeless body. He was sure she was dead. Honestly, she was surprised she wasn’t dead. “No, No.” He called her name. “Can you hear me?” She could hear him, just barely. His voice was muffled in her ears. She was having trouble making out words. “Please, please,” he pleaded with her.
He fumbled with his phone, finally dialing the number. “I found her!” His voice sounded panicked. He brushed his hand against her shoulder, eliciting a soft groan from her. “Can you hear me?” She groaned again in response. “I need help. I need to get her help. There’s–her blood–it’s everywhere!” His voice cracked, trying to hold back tears. “She doesn’t have fifteen minutes!” Despite having trouble deciphering through the muffled noises, she could still hear the fear in his voice. “Fine! Fifteen minutes.” He hung up the phone.
“Please stay with me.”