herbs-and-poultices

[herbs-and-poultices]

24. Bedridden or 66. Bedside Manner, with comfort/caretaking from the team? Leon's gonna need it... (can be a continuation of something else, or a standalone, up to you)

He definitely does 😭 (For this prompt list)

Bedridden/Bedside Manner

"Fuck," Leon hisses weakly, arching backwards into Piers' arms as Jill tears yet another of the barbed spikes free of his thigh, the sound coming out closer to a sob. His breaths come harsh in his chest, one hand squeezing Chris's meaty palm in a death grip where he's decided to lean into Leon's space from the edge of the dusty bed, the other clawing into Piers' arm where it's been wrapped securely over Leon's chest. He shudders, sweat dripping down a temple.

"One more," Jill says grimly, to which Piers subtly tightens his hold. She doesn't give Leon a chance to prepare himself, cutting deep into his leg and yanking the final spike out in a gout of fresh blood. Leon can only gasp, spasming.

"Got--got anything for the poison, yet?" he slurs, feeling the burn of it through his veins now that the overwhelming source of pain has dulled. He thinks someone responds, but then Jill clamps down hard on his leg to provide pressure and Leon can't stop himself from passing out entirely.

He comes to with a cough, blinking blearily at the sensation of a cool cloth against his forehead, a callused thumb so large it can only belong to Chris sliding gently beneath his eye to collect the tears that have fallen there. He's still slumped against Piers' solid body, shivering weakly despite the warmth his fiancé provides. Leon moans.

"Shh," Chris soothes from Leon's left, Piers' hand smoothing over his hair as he shudders involuntarily. "We've got you."

Another, smaller hand is propped under his knee to hold it up, white gauze and bloodstained bandages visible in his blurry vision when he glances down. He winces as Jill pulls the top layer tight, bare thigh pale where it sticks out from beneath the thin blanket thrown haphazardly over his legs. He's still wearing his jacket, the distant growl of BOWs audible outside of the shack they've crawled into for shelter.

"Piers," Leon croaks as Jill finishes what she'd been doing and gently tucks his injured leg under the blanket, pulling it up until the top edge is aligned with the neckline of his t-shirt. "P-Piers--"

"It's okay. I'm here," Piers murmurs in a low voice, holding Leon tightly when his body spasms for what feels like the hundredth time.

"Piers..."

He can't remember what he'd been about to say. Chris's hand slides back into his, squeezing as Leon's eyelids flutter. He stays like that for a moment, trembling--until Piers is helping him slightly more upright, the metal edge of a canteen meeting his lips. The water is cool and soothing enough that Leon can reopen his eyes, Jill's solemn face meeting his where she holds the canteen on its side. Chris is beside her, looking worried, but Leon doesn't have the strength to comfort either of them. He's starting to feel a little sick, if he's honest, the full weight of whatever had been in those spikes wreaking havoc on his system.

"Thanks, nurse Valentine," he rasps when Jill pulls away, mainly in an attempt to lighten the mood. If anything, it makes the lines on Chris's forehead even more pronounced, voice lacking in enough conviction to play off his condition. He sighs. "We should--keep moving."

"Absolutely not." Piers is firm, then softens. "There's no way you can stand without help, and we have no idea what the toxin might do to you. Just rest."

"He's right," Chris says softly, voice too gentle. His brown eyes are wide and watery when Leon manages to look, a forced smile on his face like he's trying to convince himself that it's real. Jill pats Leon's uninjured shin.

"Sleep it off, Kennedy," she says roughly but not unkindly as she sits down in a chair near his feet, in typical Jill fashion. As if following the order, Leon's muscles suddenly relax, the cottony haze in his mind becoming more pronounced as he sags into Piers' arms. He whimpers. Spasms.

"It's okay," Piers whispers, voice cracking. Leon doesn't have the energy to ask why. He reaches up blindly, hand getting caught in the blanket until he can free it to brush his fingers against Piers' jaw.

Unconsciousness takes him.

#whump ficlet #emergency neurotransmitters #painful would tending #barely conscious whumpee #caretaking #this is the only reason I go here

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A character shielding their companion from the elements with their own body- positioning themselves as a wind-block; sitting so their shadow is cast across their companion's face; leaning over them to provide scant shelter from the rain; curling close to lend their warmth; tucking their companion's face close and cupping a hand over it to block wind-blown grit or sand; acting as a human shield from pelting hail or sleet; cradling their companion in their lap to insulate them from the seeping cold of the ground...

#whump tropes

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You're a spy. I'm a soldier, Sharpe. Can't carry a rifle so I use what I've got. Besides, what's a poor girl to do to get on in the world?

Sharpe's Honour (1994)

#whump gifs #historical whump #i don't even go here #but I'm starting to think that I should

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I though this were just practicing!

Sharpe's Challenge (2007)

#whump gifs #historical whump #i don't even go here

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Harper... Harper-! Easy, sir, easy. Maggie the maggots done the trick sir. Your wound's as clean as a whistle.

Sharpe's Eagle (1993)

#whump gifs #historical whump #i don't even go here

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Thanks @silvercap for the tag

I don't usually talk much about myself on here except for hurt/comfort-related stuff, but this sounds like fun, so here goes...

Fort Ticonderoga in the 7 Years War and American Revolution (with detours to Scotland, Quebec, Boston, and Skenesborough / Valcour Island)

My past cats and foster-kittens

Linguistics / neuropsychology / speech-language pathology stuff (I don't have nerd status in any of it, just what I did in college/uni) (I can focus on one but I will inevitably draw in all three areas because they are so interrelated)

If extended historical tangents are permitted, then Kidnapped by R L Stevenson

Uhh... that's all I've got at the moment. Oddly enough I've never really done deep dives into any particular books/movies/shows.

Tagging, only if you'd like, absolutely no pressure: @comfort-questing , @erdarielthewhumper , @chiropteracupola , @dontyoubleedoutonme

I saw this meme going around on twitter and I think it'll be perfect for this account.

List 5 topics you can talk on for an hour without preparing any material.

#tag game

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I don't even go here (except for the occasional h/c fic) but I desperately need more Leon-in-pain gifs/clips in my life.

Leon's expressions of fear/pain/discomfort are really subtle, and I think that's a testament to how much love the game put into their characters. Here's some gifs:

(also, how hard did that hit from Mendez have to be for him to make that face in the second gif? I think about that all the time, it has to be the most outward pain he shows all game.)

The shifting from relief, to 'I don't feel so good' to starting to lose consciousness is just mwah they really did that so well

#whump gif #little pain things #srsly you got more I wanna see 'em

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Caretaker: "Well, good. But don't try anything s-"

[tries to sit up] **immediate gasp of pain** "OW! aughh..."

Caretaker: "...stupid." [shakes head in exasperation]

Your whump word(s) of the day

"It... it doesn't hurt anymore. How did you do that?"

#stubborn whumpee #little caretaker things #whump words of the day

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Bullet wound fevers <3

#whump tropes #aftermath #little caretaker things #low-tech caretaking #“all they have to work with is bandages and hope” that is beautifully said

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Yes.

And also please elaborate.

Bullet wound fevers <3

#whump tropes

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And if there are any other conditions/qualifications (like, you would only read such a fic if it were an author you are already familiar with, or if it was specifically recommended to you), please leave those in the tags! I'm curious to see what people say!

#whump community #I'm picky about writing style and type of whump content but not about fandom #fanon wiki is my friend #when I like a writer I will follow them across fandoms #I will also go whumpster diving in their bookmarks #if something comes across my tumblr dashboard that I like I will investigate more on tumblr and AO3 #I sometimes search for particular tropes regardless of fandom #overall I tend to get interested in media because of the whump fics rather than the other way around

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Thanks @alicewritingstories for the tag :)

My latest and only WIP is dormant and unlikely to make it off the drawingboard, but here you go:

“Here," he slid an arm under the youth's shoulderblades, supporting his upper body; his other hand reached out to lift the dark-haired head and brought it to rest cradled between his bicep and chest.

(clarification: the youth in question is canonically 18 and an 18th century militia volunteer)

I'm not even gonna count how long that is.

Only if you want to, no pressure or anything like that: @silvercap @erdarielthewhumper @the-wandering-whumper @impossiblepluto @chiropteracupola @exhausted-sloth, also @comfort-questing (in case you want to if/when ever you feel up to it), and any other writers who hang around my little corner of Tumblr

Last sentence tag game

RULES: Post the last sentence you wrote (fanfic / original / anything) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence.

Thanks for the tags @mistresslrigtar and @dubiiousfood !! Here is what I have, from the next of the depths:

Losing his arm had been a shock, but the loss of his gear was devastating.

Tagging: @flutefemme @leiladebees @louwhose @cooking-with-hailstones @embyrinitalics @ladyhoneydee @hyylia @aurathian + anyone else who wants to play!

#tag game

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Slipped. Slid. Either way, there's something about it that's always gotten to me, too. Despite being very different from my usual tastes for aftermath/caretaking focused stuff. (Older me has realized that this sort of thing is beyond what your typical cottage-in-the-woods herbalist is equipped to handle. Younger me did not care enough about medical accuracy to be bothered.)

I'd rather ramble in the tags, but I think this is too long, so here's a cut for folks who'd rather scroll on by

It's almost... gentle? Or gentler than a lot of otherwise comparable methods of accomplishing the same thing.

Rather than whirling speed and brutal force, ear-shattering explosions and shuddering collisions of weapons and armor, opportunistic and broadly-directed destruction, there is... Precision. Restraint. Measured movements. Intimate and actionable knowledge of the most visceral, vital parts of the human anatomy. And an ironic, almost mundane ease, like a warm table-knife through butter. Except this knife is cold. And sharp.

Rather than being thrown back, or recoiling in pain, they are simply fixed in place, until either they pass it off as 'nothing' and keep moving on stumbling feet, or their legs buckle under them and they crumple softly to the ground. Rather than screaming, they just gasp a little in surprise, as a finger of ice runs through them. By the time the sensation turns into pain, they have no breath left for more than a whisper.

Thinking about the phrase 'slipped a blade between his ribs.' Innocuous little phrase for a knife to the lung... usually gets associated with assassins and stuff, but it just conjures up an image of closeness. Intimacy? Whatever it is, I've been thinking about it all day 👀

#you certainly didn't pull this out of thin air #either that or child me did too which seems an improbable coincidence #childhood whump memories/scenarios that I haven't thought about in probably at least 12 years

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The painstaking slow process of soaking off a bandage to change the dressings on a wound, the old blood-crusted bandages coming away gradually as the caretaker tries their utmost to keep from causing the wounded character any unnecessary pain.

#little caretaker things #painful wound tending

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battlefield whump (other than simply “getting shot”) 💣

i am talking specifically about early 1900s-era battlefields. those vibes. but you can also alter it to be medieval war, or maybe even in a fantasy setting!

freezing cold, biting wind, icy sleet— covered in mud and blood and rain

field medicine!!

trying to comfort an injured/sick/dying fellow soldier when no help is coming

shrapnel. this can cause PROBLEMS. hundreds of pieces that get embedded everywhere throughout whumpee’s body? good shit

no pain meds, so whumpee has to bite down on a stick or a rag or something. maybe there’s alcohol to take the edge off— maybe not

friendly fire 👀 nonono think about it. it’s dark, or foggy, or storming— maybe one soldier has a head injury and isn’t seeing straight. they fire and hit whumpee. imagine the guilt. whump on both sides!!

caretaker comes across a wounded/dying soldier from the other side who has been abandoned by their platoon. what does caretaker do? do they sit down and try to comfort them? do they leave and let whumpee die alone?

blunt force trauma

being hit by tanks or other military vehicles

plane or helicopter crashes

internal bleeding from bomb blasts

infected wounds— sepsis, fevers, delirium, oh my!

just the isolation of being alone, maybe thousands of miles from home, scared and in pain.

#whump tropes #battlefield whump #delicatewhumps

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And when a friend/companion - who has been subtly eyeing them with concern, or subtly (or perhaps not so subtly) sticking close by their side - just as suddenly has an arm supporting them under their shoulder and around their back to make the descent a little less jarring and help them settle more comfortably.

When a character, already beginning to sit down, suddenly has their knees/last of their strength/balance give out and drops the last few inches onto whatever surface they were lowering themself to.

#whump aesthetic #weak whumpee #little caretaker things #comfortingcatharsis

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as much as I love whumpees who are just absolutely knocked out by their illness, there's something equally great about whumpees who are just barely there. their eyes are still open a sliver, and when caretaker moves across the room they track their movements lazily. they don't have the energy to speak but they don't need to- the pained look in their eyes and the weak groans they're able to make tell the story well enough.

they're not conscious, but they're not unconscious either. they're just... in between. drifting. too sick to be alert but also too sick to fall asleep comfortably.

all caretaker can do is sit by their side with a washcloth to gently wipe the sheen of sweat from their forehead and soothe them with reassurances that, judging by that glazed look in their eyes, caretaker isn't quite sure they can even understand.

#whump tropes #whump aesthetic #barely conscious whumpee #Ooh this is a favorite!