exhaustion and insomnia

Jaskier Whump 3/4 

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.