herbs-and-poultices

[herbs-and-poultices]

Resources For Writing Sketchy Topics

Medicine

A Study In Physical Injury

Comas

Medical Facts And Tips For Your Writing Needs

Broken Bones

Burns

Unconsciousness & Head Trauma

Blood Loss

Stab Wounds

Pain & Shock

All About Mechanical Injuries (Injuries Caused By Violence)

Writing Specific Characters

Portraying a kleptomaniac.

Playing a character with cancer.

How to portray a power driven character.

Playing the manipulative character.

Portraying a character with borderline personality disorder.

Playing a character with Orthorexia Nervosa.

Writing a character who lost someone important.

Playing the bullies.

Portraying the drug dealer.

Playing a rebellious character.

How to portray a sociopath.

How to write characters with PTSD.

Playing characters with memory loss.

Playing a pyromaniac.

How to write a mute character.

How to write a character with an OCD.

How to play a stoner.

Playing a character with an eating disorder.

Portraying a character who is anti-social.

Portraying a character who is depressed.

How to portray someone with dyslexia.

How to portray a character with bipolar disorder.

Portraying a character with severe depression.

How to play a serial killer.

Writing insane characters.

Playing a character under the influence of marijuana.

Tips on writing a drug addict.

How to write a character with HPD.

Writing a character with Nymphomania.

Writing a character with schizophrenia.

Writing a character with Dissociative Identity Disorder.

Writing a character with depression.

Writing a character who suffers from night terrors.

Writing a character with paranoid personality disorder.

How to play a victim of rape.

How to play a mentally ill/insane character.

Writing a character who self-harms.

Writing a character who is high on amphetamines.

How to play the stalker.

How to portray a character high on cocaine.

Playing a character with ADHD.

How to play a sexual assault victim.

Writing a compulsive gambler.

Playing a character who is faking a disorder.

Playing a prisoner.

Portraying an emotionally detached character.

How to play a character with social anxiety.

Portraying a character who is high.

Portraying characters who have secrets.

Portraying a recovering alcoholic.

Portraying a sex addict.

How to play someone creepy.

Portraying sexually/emotionally abused characters.

Playing a character under the influence of drugs.

Playing a character who struggles with Bulimia.

Illegal Activity

Examining Mob Mentality

How Street Gangs Work

Domestic Abuse

Torture

Assault

Murder

Terrorism

Internet Fraud

Cyberwarfare

Computer Viruses

Corporate Crime

Political Corruption

Drug Trafficking

Human Trafficking

Sex Trafficking

Illegal Immigration

Contemporary Slavery 

Black Market Prices & Profits

AK-47 prices on the black market

Bribes

Computer Hackers and Online Fraud

Contract Killing

Exotic Animals

Fake Diplomas

Fake ID Cards, Passports and Other Identity Documents

Human Smuggling Fees

Human Traffickers Prices

Kidney and Organ Trafficking Prices

Prostitution Prices

Cocaine Prices

Ecstasy Pills Prices

Heroin Prices

Marijuana Prices

Meth Prices

Earnings From Illegal Jobs

Countries In Order Of Largest To Smallest Risk

Forensics

arson

Asphyxia

Blood Analysis

Book Review

Cause & Manner of Death

Chemistry/Physics

Computers/Cell Phones/Electronics

Cool & Odd-Mostly Odd

Corpse Identification

Corpse Location

Crime and Science Radio

crime lab

Crime Scene

Cults and Religions

DNA

Document Examination

Fingerprints/Patterned Evidence

Firearms Analysis

Forensic Anthropology

Forensic Art

Forensic Dentistry

Forensic History

Forensic Psychiatry

General Forensics

Guest Blogger

High Tech Forensics

Interesting Cases

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Interviews

Medical History

Medical Issues

Misc

Multiple Murderers

On This Day

Poisons & Drugs

Police Procedure

Q&A

serial killers

Space Program

Stupid Criminals

Theft

Time of Death

Toxicology

Trauma

[herbs-and-poultices]

12) candles - maybe a continuation of the knight au bit with Leon, when they eventually manage to get to someone who can help? even if they make it there during daylight, healing will probably take long into the night...

Yes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Prompts)

12. Candles (A continuation of this)

Piers' toes are going numb when he finally catches sight of the plume of smoke over the trees, a gasp catching in his chest as his weakening limbs regain their strength. "A little longer, Leon," he promises, the unconscious weight of his companion uncomfortably slack and cool at his side even draped in the cloak hood Piers had pulled up to protect his body heat. There hasn't been a semblance of safety anywhere he's looked, the woods somehow exposed even with their canopy of dark trees. He forces himself to keep going.

It's a small, wooden hut billowing smoke from its weathered stone chimney, the frost-dusted trees planted around it set far enough apart that Piers feels like he can breathe again. It's grown dark in the time it took them to travel through the forest, night falling fast and dropping the temperature from cold to achingly frigid. Piers pauses. There's no telling who could be inside, especially here in the desolate Northern forests, but the sensation of eyes still clings to the back of Piers' neck and his strength is beginning to falter. Does he even have a choice?

His hands tingle with the beginnings of numbness as he raps on the door, a long, torturous moment passing before the locks grate and the slab of wood swings open to emit the smell of herbs and damp earth. A woman hovers beyond the door, her blonde hair braided over a shoulder and icy blue eyes scanning Piers with no small amount of caution. "What do you want?" she demands.

"Please," Piers begs, hefting Leon's slumping form slightly higher upright. His breaths have begun to rasp in his throat lose to Piers' ear, laboured and tight. "Please, my---my knight needs help."

The woman frowns, peering out into the snow. "It's just you?"

"Yes, of course."

She seems to think about it for a moment before stepping back from the doorway in silent acquiescence, Piers' legs carrying him over the threshold before he even registers the movement.

"Lay him on the bed," the woman directs briskly, pointing across the tiny, single room of the shack to where a soft, blanket and fur-strewn bed sits bathed in the warm glow of the fireplace. Piers doesn't wait for help, stalking across the cabin with the rest of his strength and carefully guiding Leon down to the mattress. His eyelids flutter as Piers cradles his head to pull back the hood of his cloak, a breathless groan of agony slipping free of his lips while the woman scoops up his limp legs and places them carefully atop the blankets. His face is drawn in the shadows, patches of fever blossoming pink on his cheeks. Piers brushes the back of a hand over Leon's forehead, flinching back at the fire-hot blaze that meets his touch.

"He's burning up," Piers breathes, unable to keep the panic fully from his voice. "It's his arm, I think he's been poisoned, or---"

The woman isn't listening, pushing past Piers to kneel at Leon's side and unravel the length of linen. Piers gasps as it falls away. The skin beneath is veined black and inflamed, still oozing blood and dripping that strange black fluid all over his sleeve. The woman hums in confirmation.

"Poison, indeed. How long ago was he struck?"

"I---it was a while before sunset, maybe an hour or two? I don't know how long we were out there."

"Hmm. Then there's no point trying to draw it out. Just let me..."

She darts away to bustle around the cabin, muttering to herself. Leon tosses his head with a faint sound of pain and Piers is at his side again in an instant, settling shakily on the edge of the bed and reaching out to carefully stroke sweat-lank strands of hair away from his face. The woman reappears again with a bundle of herbs and fresh bandages, quickly setting to work in making a poultice and smoothing it carefully over Leon's forearm before she covers it in crisp, white linen. A pot bubbles over the fire where she had been only moments before, her legs carrying her over to it with urgency that sends a thrill of fear down Piers' spine. He'd known this was serious, but something about seeing her in action makes his stomach churn.

"Get him undressed," she orders, snapping Piers free of his paralysis. His hands tremble as he reaches out to undo Leon's cloak and the straps on his armour, but he manages to get him down to his tunic and trousers before the woman returns with a small bowl of herbal-smelling liquid. She stirs it until it's no longer steaming, then jerks her head in Piers' direction. "Sit him up."

Piers does as she asks, sliding an arm around Leon's shoulders and helping him upright so that the woman can place the bowl to his lips. His head is tipped back, and Piers fears he might choke for a moment, before glassy blue eyes slit open long enough for Leon to drink down the liquid. He's unconscious again by the time the woman pulls away, and Piers lets his head sink back to the pillow. Leon's brow furrows as he spasm slightly and moans, then smooths in the same breath as his body goes lax.

"Will he be alright?" Piers asks anxiously.

"It's in his hands, now," the woman says in a gentle tone---or a slightly less harsh one, at least---swapping out the pot for a kettle of water over the fire. She turns and wipes her hands on her skirt, meeting Piers' gaze. "Come, sit with me. It's not often that I have company, and there's nothing else that we can do for him right now."

Piers strokes over Leon's hair one last time and does as she says, feeling strangely out of his depth. The dining table in the centre of the cabin has two chairs, its weathered wooden surface scattered with teacups and papers that the woman quickly scoops up and deposits in the washbasin and a nearby shelf, respectively. Piers can't help but fix his gaze on Leon's rapidly rising chest, watching the man's face twist as he turns in his sleep.

"Don't," the woman says, sitting in the chair opposite Piers. She has a lit match in her hand, dipping the fiery end of it into the set of wax candles placed atop a sheet on paper in the middle of the table. "I'll watch him. There is no point in tormenting yourself with worry. He's strong."

"He is." Piers ducks his head, the glow of candlelight spilling across the table to illuminate the room in soft gold. "I just wish there was more I could do."

[herbs-and-poultices]

Being acespec and a whumper is tricky because like. I've learned when it comes to blorbos there is a fine yet distinct line between "I have a crush on this fictional character", "I have a deep but non-romantic fascination with this character" and "I want to see this character Get Whumped" and sometimes there is indeed overlap!!!! But they aren't the same!!!!!

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The air hung heavy with the smell of antiseptic and the faint hum of a ceiling fan. Whumpee was lying in the bed, barely recognizable beneath the mound of blankets. They were shivering uncontrollably, their breaths shallow and ragged, eyes fluttering between closed and barely open. A persistent fever had left them in a state of near-delirium, and every movement seemed to take immense effort.

They barely managed to lift a trembling hand towards the glass of water on the bedside table, but their fingers wouldn’t cooperate, their grip failing as the glass nearly tipped over.

Caretaker, watching with a mix of concern and tenderness, moved swiftly to the bedside. They gently took the glass from Whumpee’s weak, unsteady hands and sat down beside them. Their presence was a comforting contrast to the chaos of illness.

“Wait, let me help,” Caretaker said softly, their voice a soothing balm against the tension of the room. With careful movements, they took the glass from Whumpee’s unsteady grasp, and they placed one hand behind Whumpee’s head, gently lifting it just enough to allow them to drink.

Whumpee’s eyes were half-closed, their lips parting slightly. They managed a weak, almost inaudible, “Th-thank you…” Their voice was barely more than a whisper, the words strained and fragile.

Caretaker responded with a warm smile, though their eyes held a deep sadness. “It’s okay. Just take small sips. You need to stay hydrated.”

They watched intently, ready to steady the glass if needed as Whumpee’s eyes fluttered open again, and they took a tentative sip. Their mouth moved weakly, and they tried to swallow, but their efforts were almost too feeble to be effective.

After a few sips, Whumpee’s head fell back onto the pillow, their body sinking into the mattress as exhaustion took over once more. Caretaker set the glass down and gently adjusted the blanket, smoothing it around their shivering form.

“You’re doing great,” they said softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from Whumpee’s forehead. “Just rest now. I’m here.”

There was a brief, almost imperceptible smile on Whumpee’s lips, a silent expression of gratitude, then almost soon after, their eyes closed. They were still in the throes of fever, and every breath and moving was agony, but at least they weren’t alone.

[herbs-and-poultices]

whumpee shivering helplessly, uncontrollably as their blankets are pulled back - to tend to injuries, to check bandages, to clean them up or change the bedclothes beneath them. even when they're wrapped back up in their nest again, it takes long moments before they can start to feel properly warm, the chill seemingly sunk through to their bones. only time, or maybe the security and body heat of someone else huddling next to them, can calm their shivers and let them rest once more.

[herbs-and-poultices]

Comfort is my favourite part of the whump! How about the caretaker talking the whumpee through their pain. Head in lap, soothing words and tender touches. The beautiful cliché fingers carding through their hair. Holding their hand, giving them something to cling to as they ride out the pain and keep themselves grounded. So good! ~ @beautifullywhumped

Beautiful. While I like seeing my faves getting bloodied and bruised, there’s nothing quite like the comfort that comes after, no matter how cliched it is.

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10 Non-Lethal Injuries to Add Pain to Your Writing

While lethal injuries often take center stage, non-lethal injuries can create lasting effects on characters, shaping their journeys in unique ways. If you need a simple way to make your characters feel pain during a scene, here are some ideas: 

Sprained Ankle

A common injury that can severely limit mobility, forcing characters to adapt their plans and experience frustration as they navigate their environment.

Rib Contusion

A painful bruise on the ribs can make breathing difficult and create tension, especially during action scenes, where every breath becomes a reminder of vulnerability.

Concussion

This brain injury can lead to confusion, dizziness, and mood swings, affecting a character’s judgment and creating a sense of unpredictability in their actions.

Fractured Finger

A broken finger can complicate tasks that require fine motor skills, causing frustration and emphasizing a character’s dependence on their hands.

Road Rash

The raw, painful skin resulting from a fall can symbolize struggle and endurance, highlighting a character's resilience in the face of physical hardship.

Shoulder Dislocation

This injury can be excruciating and often leads to an inability to use one arm, forcing characters to confront their limitations while adding urgency to their situation.

Deep Laceration

A cut that requires stitches can evoke visceral imagery and tension, especially if the character has to navigate their surroundings while in pain.

Burns

Whether from fire, chemicals, or hot surfaces, burns can cause intense suffering and lingering trauma, serving as a physical reminder of a character’s past mistakes or battles.

Pulled Muscle

This can create ongoing pain and restrict movement, providing an opportunity for characters to experience frustration or the need to lean on others for support.

Tendonitis

Inflammation of a tendon can cause chronic pain and limit a character's ability to perform tasks they usually take for granted, highlighting their struggle to adapt and overcome.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

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[herbs-and-poultices]

Whumpees who can't stop shivering, whether it's due to fever or the cold, no matter how many blankets are piled on top of them. Their lower lip trembles, their teeth chattering, and every muscle in their body is starting to ache from the repetitive movements.

Caretaker sits or lays right next to them, stroking their hair and holding them close, trying to squeeze some warmth into their bones, their shuddering breaths vibrating against Caretaker's side.

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Hullo and welcome! Glad to have you here!

Hullo, dear friends!

I will serve to post whump of a more…old-fashioned variety? What I mean to say is that the hurt/comfort (admittedly predominantly comfort) that I post will be more reminiscent of the sort of thing you’d find in a classic novel, perhaps. All very romanticised, very little medical accuracy, absolutely no modern medicine.

Perhaps I will write little scenarios; perhaps I will create prompts; perhaps I will do some drawings; perhaps I shall post some of my favourite whump scenes in media; perhaps I shall even make some OCs!

It may not all be whump- I may post some generic angst or some fluff as well.

There will be nothing explicitly sexual in nature posted here, but there will naturally be some level of gore. I will add warnings to things where I find it to be appropriate.

Well, we shall see what happens to this blog. Thank you for reading!

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weak in the knees for situations where a stoic whumpee allows someone to help them. they don't say a word of acceptance but they don't protest either. Too injured to say no and too tired to deny they need it. Just grudgingly letting a gentle hand guide them to a bed or to wrap a wound. Then a quiet, "thank you." in between sharp breathing as they try not to break down in front of someone else. Love love love shielded vulnerability

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Hand-holding that may be incidental to treating an injury but is still done so tenderly by the attending character- coaxing clenched fingers open in order to examine the injury; keeping a hand steady while tweezing out bits of debris; clasping palm-to-palm while holding a burned hand under cool water; thoroughly rubbing balm into cracked, dry skin; holding the hand still in a firm but gentle grasp when dabbing away blood and cleaning a wound; cradling a hand in their lap while suturing up a laceration; carefully manipulating broken fingers to set them; swaddling frostbitten fingers in a warm, damp cloth; gently squeezing each fingertip in turn to check circulation; turning a hand this way and that to wrap bandages around it; lifting a hand to take a pulse at the wrist; massaging stiff or sore knuckle joints; holding a frigid hand cupped between both of theirs to warm it; and on and on...

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A character, semi-conscious, whose only tenuous tether to consciousness is the ceaseless stream of prattle kept up by their companion, who isn't even sure of their ability to hear them at the moment, but keeps it up nonetheless to offer some measure of reassurance that they've not been left alone to the semi-conscious character, who can in fact hear them and is comforted and clings to the words in the same way they cannot physically cling to their companion at the moment.

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That pneumonia hit me pretty hard, but I am on the mend now. And I have, indeed, been taking notes 😉

Cmmon symptoms, treatment, etc can be found online from health organizations that actually know what they're talking about, so these are just going to be a few little things from my personal experience.

Feel free to use as inspiration in anything whump-related. Enjoy!

CW: irl illness and a bit of medical stuff

In general:

When they say it can come on fast, it can come on FAST. After a bit over a week with lingering cold symptoms and the occasional low-grade fever, my temperature went from normal (98.7F / 37C) to 102.4F / 39.1C in an hour, to 103.7F (39.8 C) in the urgent care half an hour after that. Fatigue, dizziness, and shortness of breath all hit all of a sudden about half an hour in.

I had lower left lobe pneumonia (inflammation in the lower part of my left lung) and for about 3 days I had what felt like a constant stitch in my left side, in my lower ribs, that hurt to lean against or lie on.

Breathing about halfway in felt fine. Breathing more deeply than that hurt and made my lower ribs and mid-back seize up.

I'm addition to being a lovely variety of colors, the gunk I coughed up tasted foul. Really bitter, in addition to about triple the usual clingy sickly taste of mucus. And it took a few minutes for the taste to go away.

In a chair, sitting straight up was alright, but it stretched my lower ribs and made it more tiring to breath deeply. Leaning forward elbows-on-knees was sometimes better. In a bed, lying flat made breathing a lot of work, even breathing shallowly; it felt like only the top 1/4 of my lungs was functional. Leaning back at an angle felt best. Any sort of turned/twisted position hurt and made my breathing shallower and more work.

Even after the congestion/inflammation in my lower lungs cleared out and I could breathe completely pain-free, my upper airway was pretty irritated. It felt like my trachea for a few inches above and below my sternal notch was made of tissue paper. Breathing into my lower ribs felt ok, but breathing into my upper chest felt tight and made me cough.

For a modern hospital setting:

Personally, how my IV felt was directly correlated with my fever, which went up and down several times. No fever, no pain as long as I didn't move that arm too much. Fever, and the whole inside of my elbow ached.

The nebulizer treatments made me feel like jumping out of my skin. Jittery, shaking, heart palpitations, heart rate up into the 120s (when it wasn't there already), for about three hours each time. My short-acting asthma inhaler gives me a little bit of that, so I wasn't completely thrown for a loop, but this was way more intense.

If you want to add in a little more hurt-to-help / it's-for-your-own-good, you might consider acquainting your character with an incentive spirometer (aka medical self-torture device). It's a benign-looking plastic apparatus that taunts you into taking painfully deep breaths, and then usually painfully coughing. I don't know what the standard is, but I was sentenced to 10x every hour.

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An injured character, their hand tightly clasped over a wound to hold pressure and stem the flow of blood, their grip gradually slackening as they're overcome by pain, made woozy with bloodloss or the mere sight and feel of the wound, start to succumb to the elements, until their hand is only loosely draped over the injury, cupped fingers streaked with blood, sodden wadded compresses fallen away, and still the continued slow seep of blood glistens fresh scarlet beneath their hand.

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just so you know, you have some followers who enjoy/write fanfiction. not saying their urls rn bc i don’t wanna air out dirty laundry in public but if you want them so you can block and report, just say the word and i’ll dm you a list

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I voted!

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thinking about Whumpees being hugged as a way to both comfort and restrain them when they have injuries that need to be treated (painfully)