#giant caretaker

[whump-blog]

Whump Art 10

Caretaker feeding pieces of apple to an injured tiny Whumpee.

[aspergirl2022]

Tiny Pet prompt

I wanted to write a story with a giant and their tiny pet, some kind of Giant Caretaker receiving Tiny Whumpee as a present but since I can’t put in on the paper I will change my story into a prompt.

In Caretaker's society only the wealthiest can afford Tiny pets. Caretaker is one of them, their family had a Tiny pet when they were a kid but Caretaker remember that their Tiny always looked sad and cried a lot, even more after Caretaker's Mom cut their tongue.

Caretaker never wanted a Tiny pet but their parent decided it was the perfect gift for their beloved child who just became an adult and lived on their own. So one day when Caretaker come home from work they find a cage with a note from their parent on it, inside of it there is a Tiny pet named Whumpee. Whumpee is dead scared of the Giants but Caretaker is decided to show them they’re not like their fellows.

[whumpthefuck]

I just had an idea.

Tiny who is outside, it's raining hard, they're exhausted and freezing. They stumble across a large garage, and giant's clothes, it's dirty and worn, and seems to have been discarded a while ago, but they don't care. They dry off and find a nice pocket to cozy up in. It's not long before they fall asleep.

Unknown to Tiny is that the clothing wasn't abandoned. It's owned by a giant that works as a construction worker, their clothing is constantly dirty and wears down fast, giving it the illusion of being abandoned.

The giant puts on their clothes for the day, and it isn't until the Giant is at work that the Tiny wakes up. Terrified out of their wits, they try to find a way out, unfortunately they manage to fall out almost landing in a running piece of machinery. Giant out of habit manages to catch Tiny to both of their suprise.

Maybe Giant wants to let Tiny go, but they realize Tiny is in horrible shape, they're fragile, exhausted, and clearly are in need of some TLC. Maybe Giant reluctantly takes on the responsibility of nursing Tiny back to health.

Just thinking about how terrified Tiny would be at this dirty rugged Giant keeping them hostage, and the Giant wanting nothing more than to help Tiny but struggling to convince them that they don't want to hurt them, they just want to help.

[bltzgore]

TW: lovecraftian deities, broken bone, tiny whumpee

Alright! I've got something. Whumpee, a human, accidentially begins tredding in territory they don't understand in the realms of lovecraftian gods. Whumper and caretaker are such entities, and we go from there:

The astral plane is not one ever meant to fall into human eyes, but it wasn't exactly whumpee's choice, now was it? Whumper had simply reached through the rift and snatched them like a ripe fruit. Now whumpee found whumper looking at them with dangerous interest. Whumpee wasn't sure what non-dangerous interest looked like on the "face" of something like that.

Whumper looked down, studying the thing in their hand, "Well well, you are certainly something different, I'll give caretaker that."

Whumpee struggled, clawing at whumper's fingers, kicking, they would have tried biting if they thought it would do anything. "Let go of me!"

Whumper just laughed, "You're a fisty little insect. We'll see if you can make such an annoyance of yourself when you don't have any working limbs." Without further notice they grabbed whumpee's arm with two of the fingers on their free hand and began both lift them up by it and crush.

Whumpee shrieked, their arm seeming to give no real resistance to the deity, crunching. The added pressure of whumpee's body weight jammed tears through their eyes as the pain fell hammering down through the rest of their body. It stunned them, but only for a moment before spurring them to reach with the other arm, scrambling for somewhere to grab and distribute the weight.

Whumper watched them thrash for a moment, then gave something that probably was their interperatation of grinning. Well as close as the mandibles, eyes, and tendrils would allow them to get anyway. "If you really want me to let go I suppose I could oblidge you."

And just like that the strain left, but not the agony, with a sqeak of shock whumpee was falling. The terror spread through their chest like ice water, and they screamed the only name that came to mind, "Caretaker!"

Whumpee never hit the ground. Something enveloped their back, and slowed their fall gently enough to even avoid whiplash. As caretaker had learned by now, humans were such fragile things.

Whumper grinned, "Ah, I see you've finally managed to join us."

Caretaker gave whumpee a glance, then closed their hand slightly and straighed up, "It would not be wise to break my favorite toy."

Whumper shook their head, "Aw, we were just playing."

Caretaker bared their teeth, or what passed for teeth, "Well you play too rough. Apologize. And if you ever go near them again," In one stride caretaker was eye to eye with whumper, "I'm going to teach you the meaning of my name."

[kaleidoscope-of-thoughts]

Giant Caretaker finds a hurt and bleeding human Whumpee and is so gentle while trying to help them.

They hold them in their palms and make sure not to squeeze too tight when they gentle lay them on a pillow to treat their injuries.

[whumpingandsmilinglikeanidiot]

Doctor whumpee, too injured/sick to deal with it themselves and so they have to tell Whumper/Caretaker what to do

There's so much potential to this! Just look

What exactly is preventing them from dealing with the wound/whatever?

their hands are shaking too much(love this one)/they have a bad fever and are delirious/don't have the strength to move an inch/or more

Then we have what the treatment is?

Cleaning, disinfecting, bandaging are the basics, how about an injection(go old timey and you can do morphine for painkillers), or full on surgery if you want intense scenarios(just think about it!! Whumpee has to be up and giving instructions for the entire ordeal I don't know how but make it happen if you want), holding broken bones in place, putting in dislocated limbs, stopping the bleeding with their own clothes, these are like just off the back of my head

If you go with bad fever and delirious you can say the Caretaker(or Whumper) realizes halfway through following instructions that Whumpee's instructions are wrong and will put Whumpee in more harm

Then we get what the reaction is

Perhaps Whumpee can't help but laugh at the bad job they're doing, even in this awful situation, and Caretaker laughs weakly along

or screams for them to do it quick, then maybe apologizes later

or completely disoriented in pain, tapping ground with finger furiously, groaning, repeating instructions quietly

Just come on this is so good

[thepenultimateword]

Short prompt #149

Civilian blinked at the Villain on their door step. Not so much because they were a villain but more because when they came into the coffee shop this afternoon they were 6 feet tall and now they were barley six inches.

Of course, Villain had size altering powers, so maybe this was normal too them, but why would the put themselves in such a vulnerable position. Was this a trap?

“Villain. You’re um…um…”

“I’m stuck.”

Civilian blinked again, more rapidly now. “Stuck?”

“I…” Villain kicked their tiny toes against the welcome mat. “I can’t…get tall again….”

“What happened?” Civilian asked. Maybe that was too classified for a civilian to hear, but seeing as they showed up on their doorstep, it seemed sort of their business too.

“I don’t know,” Villain said. “This has never happened to me before, all I know is I’m stuck, and I have no idea how long I’m going to stay stuck and there’s nothing I can do to get home without potentially being crushed and I don’t have anyone who wouldn’t use this to their advantage so you’re the only one I could think to come to, but then again, maybe I shouldn’t trust a stranger too much, but—”

Civilian stooped down into a low crouch causing the Villain to stumble back a few cautious steps and trip clumsily over the mat’s edge. “Villain. I’m more than happy to help.”

[flame-shadow]

Giant's Lair Roach Village Bug Fables NPC Collab [20/23]

Background - @flame-shadow Editor - @flame-shadow

Character Credits The Elder - @flame-shadow Scorpion Caretaker - sticspace Ray - sticspace Rina - sticspace Roy - @mizzle-moths Roach - @tradingstars

[click here to see the entire collection]

[whump-blog]

Prompt 48

Whumper is in the market for a new pet. There he tries to choose a sturdy one. Working for Whumper requires being able to withstand a lot of hard work, plus, Whumper plans to have fun training a challenging pet, it would be a pity if a bit of fun ended up killing it.

Among all the pets, a tall, strong one stands out immediately catching his eye. This pet, with its clenched jaw and furrowed brow, looks challenging enough to amuse him. So, with that in mind, Whumper approaches and yanks on its hair, expecting a reaction such as defiance, fury or even humiliation, but instead Whumpee leans against his hand, seeking his touch.

Paying closer attention Whumper notices the scars under Whumpee's clothes… it seems that his new pet has already had an owner.

[greatgigintheskiess]

The whole world at your fingertips

Cw: Cold Whump, Tiny Whump

Word Count: 3.4 k

For all, once again it was winter. Trees had lost their leaves, leaving only bare and naked branches behind, which now stood lonely in the landscape. Snow has fallen, covering every green meadow in pure white, and most animals hibernate in their warm shelters, waiting for the cold to pass. In the late afternoon, the sun already started to set, painting the sky in beautiful colors of pink and blue. Snow on the mountains shimmered in the evening light while icy winds were blowing through a forest of white high pines.

Although Carl would’ve liked to admire such a pretty landscape for a bit longer, he still had to move on through the deep snow in direction towards his home. Probably, it had been a good idea to make his way back a bit earlier, since night would fall very soon. And if it wasn’t for this chatty trader at the market, through whom he became involved in a longer conversation, Carl surely would’ve been home already. The older man kept on walking through the forest, snow crunching under his feet. Soon, he spotted his cabin in the distance, letting out a relieved grunt as his face was stinging from the cold, cheeks and nose reddened. The basket filled with potatoes, which he carried on his back, was getting heavier and heavier with time. Carl finally placed it on the ground beside the front door, grabbing a lantern from inside to bring the basket to his storage.

Just when the cooper passed his small shed, he heard a noise coming from a barrel, which stood next to it outside. First, Carl believed he had misheard, since his ears weren’t the best anymore. But when he came closer to the barrel, which usually was used for rainwater in spring, the man heard it once again. It sounded like a soft whimper, almost inaudible. Carl held the lantern over the barrel, illuminating the darkness right away and glanced into it.

And there was something on the very ground of it, indeed. The man recognized a tiny animal with a striped bushy tail and small ears laying on the wood, shivering from the cold. But on a second glance, that wasn’t just a raccoon, it was a child.

A little boy.

His light brown hair was ruffled and unkempt, his ragged clothes way too thin for winter and the tiny child was curled into a ball, pulling his legs close to his body. He whimpered quietly, still shivering and didn’t even notice the man glancing down on him. Carl has never seen such a little creature before. He knew there were myths about tinies but certainly not about raccoon hybrids. Nevertheless, the man had pity for the poor little thing. The boy probably only looked for a warm shelter and fell into the barrel, being hopelessly trapped in it.

The cooper reached his hand into the barrel, picking up the child which was merely the size of his thumb. "Hey, how did you end up there, little one?” Carl mumbled under his breath, gently opening his fist to look at the tiny boy laying on his palm.

The boy tried blinking his eyes open and slightly shifted on the warm surface but was too exhausted to respond. Only a few whimpers left the child’s throat and Carl could tell that he was freezing terribly by his shivers and chattering teeth.

"You must be really cold, aren’t you?” The older man frowned, glancing down on the raccoon child in concern. "Better get you inside.”

Not sooner said as done, Carl as carefully as possible carried the boy on his palm to the front door, snapping the latch out of the lock and the wooden door opened with a slight creaking. The man slowly entered the cabin, watching every step of his and avoided any harsh movements to not trip and risk dropping the little boy on his palm. In the twilight of the fallen night by now, he could only recognize the silhouettes of his furniture through the gleaming light the lantern provided. Gently, Carl laid the boy on a soft pillow in his cot, covering him with a scrap of fur. His tiny hands clenched into the fabric, the whole body still trembling uncontrollably and his fluffy ears were laid back. The child stirred slowly, whimpering as sleep soon took him. He was unconscious, yet alive and breathing to Carl's relief.

Still he wondered. Where did this little creature come from and what was he doing here all alone by himself?

But right now, the man only hoped he could warm up the child. He lit a fire for the night, guarding the boy's sleep for a while. And Carl was relieved to have finished his purchases earlier because not even an hour later, it started snowing so heavily that no one could even see through. The man sat beside the cot, looking outside a small window in the raging snow while the fire was crackling quietly nearby.

Fortunately though, he had found the child outside just before the upcoming blizzard, Carl thought.

Lost in thoughts, he was snapped out when the man heard the boy quietly groaning, waking up from his sleep. He slightly blinked his eyes open, looking very pale, as if all color had disappeared out of his face. Teal eyes widened in fear, glaring up to the giant man. He winced when Carl carefully neared him, taking a seat on the cot beside the pillow, on which the child lay. He was still shivering, although by now, the room was heated up by the warmth the fireplace contributed.

So might the only reason be that the boy was utterly afraid of him?

Admittedly, he would also be scared of someone twenty times his size. So who was he to blame?

"You don't have to be scared, little one." The man soothed, looking down on the tiny boy. "I won't hurt you."

Staring into Carl's eyes, he was filled with dread and straightened on the way too big pillow. The child tensed, shuddering, as his shoulders rose. He huddled as far away as possible, creasing his forehead. Carl watched the boy and didn't move a muscle to not scare him even more. For a moment, there was silence. The man hesitated, expecting some kind of reaction from the kid, but nothing followed. Frightened eyes met his, the boy's hands gripped so tightly into the soft fur, showing white knuckles. Carl lowered his chin, taking a deep breath and prepared to choose his next words thoughtfully.

"I just took you out of that barrel and saved you from the cold." Carl added, gesturing with his hand. "See, this is my home."

The boy averted his eyes, studying the cozy room for a brief moment until his attention fell back again on the giant man sitting in front of him. He didn't appear to be a threat to the boy, yet he held his breath, expecting the worst to happen. The man still was a total stranger and the boy helplessly small in comparison. However, there was this one question circling in his mind, making him wonder about all of this.

"Y-you saved me...? Why?" The child's voice quivered, his lip trembling slightly.

The boy turned his head, pulling his knees together, and moved his tail closer to his body. Awe glowed in his eyes, furrowing in tension. Maybe replying with such a question could have been a mistake. Even talking back to someone who can easily squish life out of him by one grip. But now it was too late for regrets. If the giant wanted, he could grab and kill him right away.

But to his surprise, the man didn't act like any of this. He looked down on the child and pursed his lips, scratching his forehead. He didn't appear to be angry or vicious, rather…overwhelmed?

"Because you were all alone there, in thin rags and I couldn't just leave you there." The giant replied in a raucous voice, sounding stoic but not intimidating. He shifted slowly on the cot, which made the boy cringe to the sudden movement. The child jerked away, shifting his shoulders in a half-shrug. The growing anticipation for something to happen increased and the boy felt more anxious in every second passing by.

"I-i was always told to stay away from humans..." The raccoon child said timidly.

His little heart was furiously pounding in his chest and he started feeling dizzy that the world was seemingly spinning around him in endless circles. And he didn't know in which direction this conversation might go. Maybe that was all some kind of sick cat-and-mouse game to stall him. Maybe the giant only waited for the moment where he got distracted, losing his temper.

Whatever that was, it became unnerving.

Carl could clearly see that the boy was feeling more and more tense, although there wasn't a single reason for him to feel that way. He just tried moving on with their little conversation and was surprised that the child was even willing to talk to him. But how could he show the boy that he wasn't a threat to him? The whole time, he had wondered what the kid had been doing near his home, anyway. He was also way too young to survive on his own out there, since the boy couldn't be older than ten. Carl hesitated asking the kid about his parents though.

"Did your parents tell you that?" He uttered eventually, tilting his chin.

The child slightly shook his head, struggling to speak. "No, t-the other hybrids." He stuttered in a weakened voice. "A few took me in after my parents died."

"They…" He faltered, visibly in distress, "were killed by a human…"

The boy looked down, unable to meet Carl's eyes. He was too exhausted for this. He felt awful and didn't know why. As if he had lost control of his body, his teal eyes soon filled with tears, a flush crept over his pale freckled skin and his face contorted while the small body was still trembling. Before the man could even respond something like expressing condolences to him for his loss, he was interrupted by a quiet sniffle and a low breaking voice.

"Please, don't kill me too!" The boy trailed off into body-wracking sobs, turning away from the man's glance. "Please, I don't want to die!"

Carl bit his lip. His brows turned into a frown, eyes narrowing in concern. His stoic facade seemed to crumble when he watched the child crying. Seeing the little raccoon boy like this shattered his heart, not only because he lost his family but also that the child expected him to do such awful things too.

"Hey, I would never kill an innocent living being." The man assured, leaning a bit closer to the child. "Especially not a kid."

What was he supposed to do now?

Carl didn't know much about comforting children as he himself barely interacted with any. And this one was so small too, that he feared to hurt him by accident additionally. A bit awkwardly he stretched out his hand, drew it nearer to the little creature until his fingers wrapped around the boy's body, picking him up gently. The kid squeezed his eyes shut, still sobbing and didn't dare to raise his head. Carl held him a bit higher, almost on eye level, to look into the child's flushed face.

"And honestly, I don't blame you for being scared of me but can I at least know your name?"

In response, the man only heard a few further sobs and sniffles that made him feel unintentionally bad about this whole situation. That poor kid must be shocked to the core, completely overwhelmed as he turned into a crying mess now. And that's exactly what this whole thing has been so far: A mess.

Despite this, the boy's crying became more faint soon and he slowly raised his chin, noticing that he had just been asked a question. Carl watched him patiently as he wiped away some of his tears, seemingly calmed down and peered up to the man with reddened eyes, cheeks turned crimson.

"A-arin, sir..." The child replied with a trembling voice.

Carl really had to suppress a chuckle as nobody has ever addressed him like that. Without question, 'sir' sounded very nice. And it did amuse him in the slightest way as his height probably inspired awe in the boy to show his counterpart some respect. Sure, it was no wonder when the kid chose his words carefully; he was sitting right on the man's palm, nervous like a cat on a hot tin roof.

"You can call me Carl."

For a minute he had thought how to put it in words best that he would keep the boy here with him. Because the child certainly didn't look like he would want to stay any longer in the man's company. And yeah, maybe he could also let the kid go into the snow storm, saying that he doesn't care but that wouldn't be the truth. He did care and he had pity for the kid.

"Now listen, Arin, it's not that I'm going to force you to stay here but I can't let you go into this blizzard." Carl pointed at the window beside, where a heavy snowstorm was raging in the darkness, unable to see anything through it. Arin snapped up his head, face pale like a ghost.

Wait, what-

Stay? Here?

The boy expected anything but not this. This had to be a joke. Where's that sudden care coming from, anyway? Shouldn't humans be evil, disdainful creatures? Why did this one save him then? Everything about this seemed off, completely confusing Arin. And even after this conversation he still couldn't come to terms with the idea of being in a human's house, sitting on a human's hand, why, talking to one even!

"But I don't want to be a burden to you..." Then followed quietly, cutting the man off guard. He saw Arin looking down, wiping away some of his remaining tears.

Such a small child? A burden? Nonsense. Apart from this, Carl lived all alone here, a few miles away from the next village, so he had no one to talk to anyway. And a little bit of company sure wouldn't hurt.

"Trust me, you're not." Carl said without even batting an eye.

Arin didn't know what to answer on this and continued on awkwardly staring a hole into the floor. And after he didn't come up with any more excuses, the boy decided to give in, letting it be. Arguing with the human is probably pointless and a waste of time so Arin just accepted the offer gratefully, even with feeling uneasy. In a sudden, he felt the ground moving underneath his body that he flinched slightly, gasping when he saw the giant had started walking. Arin reeled, almost falling backwards but straightened again, sitting as upright as possible. Luckily, the man didn’t carry him far but this short ride was already enough to make Arin's stomach turn. He was glad when Carl stopped, laying out his hand on a wooden surface which appeared to be a table. Arin hesitated, staring up to the man who gave him an expectant look.

"Go ahead, kid." He urged, waiting for the boy to move.

Eventually, Arin understood what he was supposed to do, so he carefully climbed down the man's hand, standing on the table on shaky legs. His body now felt even heavier than before, holding his weight seemed so much harder. Yet the boy tried to hold himself as steady as possible so the giant wouldn't notice that. Arin already appeared to be weak and worn out when he cried in front of the stranger. And he didn't want to embarrass himself even more.

The child turned around to Carl who sat down on a chair beside him. They were staring at each other for a while without a single word. Arin gulbed, feeling how sore his throat was. The boy already felt uneasy and this situation didn't necessarily make it better. Was it strange? Maybe. Awkward? Absolutely.

"So," Carl broke the silence then, shoving a plate of leftovers to the boy. "You're sure hungry, aren't you?" Arin startled at the sudden sound of the porcelain scraping over the wood and peered at the food presented there. It was a slice of bread with few potatoes but so big in comparison to the tiny boy. Carl tore off a small piece of bread, handing it out to the child. Arin still stood there motionless, staring at the man in confusion. Carl couldn't help but leave a slight smirk on his lips.

"Eat, my child, it's not poisoned." He mumbled softly, amused about Arin's cowed attitude.

The kid probably still thinks he's going to harm him intentionally, Carl thought. Sure, that whole situation must be very odd to the boy and he was obviously still struggling to trust him, yet Carl hoped to show him that there's nothing to be afraid of and that Arin was safe here in his custody.

The boy hesitated when he heard his stomach growling, noticing how hungry he actually was. And he hasn't eaten in days, not a single crumble. But could he just accept the giant's offer? What if that's just a trick? Arin was still scared but then finally took the piece with trembling hands and ate a few bites. It tasted dry but was better than nothing. The child tried swallowing down as much of the bread as he could but every swallow only hurt more. And his throat felt so sore that he wondered why that was the case.

Carl's smile soon disappeared when he saw how the boy screwed up his face, struggling with every bite. Also the kid looked unusually pale and sickly in addition to his skinny body. Carl had thought he would do the boy some good by giving him something to eat but now he noticed that Arin probably felt too unwell.

He stopped eating, when the man addressed him in concern. "Y'know, looking at you, you don't look too healthy, kid." And it kinda made sense, since he was only wearing thin clothes, walking through the snow with bare feet in such icy weather. The boy probably caught a cold, no wonder, when he was trapped in the barrel for how long?

"My throat… it hurts." Arin quietly whined in response, looking down sadly on the piece of bread. "But I'm so hungry."

Carl saw a few tears glistening on the boy's cheeks and eyed the poor child with pity. The little one was sniveling, looking so helplessly and scared.

"You probably have fever." The man added, a brow furrowing in concern. "Wanna lay down for a while?"

Arin felt too tired to complain. He felt how his legs eventually gave in, how his head was pounding, cheeks glowing. Only now Carl noticed how he was actually trembling all over.

My, and he thought the kid was still scared.

The boy nodded slightly after the man's question, almost stumbling towards him and looked even more exhausted than before. Carl looked sadly at the child and held out his hand again to let the boy climb on it.

"I'm s-so cold…" Arin mumbled through his aching throat and crossed his arms in an attempt to stay warm. Unfortunately, that didn't help much. The boy curled into a ball on Carl's palm who stood up, carrying him back to the cot.

"I know, kid, I know." The man said in a sad voice and laid Arin back where he once woke up a while ago.

Although Carl absolutely had no idea what to do with such a small child like this, let alone how to nurse him back to health, he still would try to help him. Because if not he, who else? Arin had no one who would look after him, who would care for him.

And somehow Carl felt responsible for this little boy so he would keep him here, keep him safe in his hands.

[kendsleyauthor]

Prompt 13 .... Charles and Will?

In Case of Emergency

Print/trinket universe

~1900 words

Warning: Mentions of past dehumanization

Summary: Days after the events of Luck and Miracles, Charles struggles to trust Will's intentions.

Thank you for the prompt!!

@marydublinauthor 🌸

How could anyone sleep soundly? The other trinkets slept like they didn’t have a care in the world. Maybe they were completely brainwashed, but Charles was a different matter.

He drifted off for hour-long increments at best—and only from sheer exhaustion. The rest of the time, he was wide awake, mind racing with the possibilities of sinister motives. 

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. Slowly, he got out of bed and shuffled toward the door. It had been three nights since Will saved him from the beer can and brought him home. This was the first night that his chills and fever had lessened enough for him to venture out.

He was extra quiet as he went past Ramona’s bed. She was the staunchest supporter of Will. If she saw Charles sneaking around, she’d know immediately that he was trying to map out an escape. Maybe she’d alert Will. Maybe then the act would be dropped.

Or maybe nothing would happen at all.

Charles wanted to trust Will—he really did. But he needed some assurance that he wasn’t as trapped as he felt. Getting out of the hand-crafted trinket house was a good start.

A small LED light is attached to the wall near the entrance. Thankfully, the hinges on the rounded door didn’t squeak. Charles braced himself, then stepped out onto the bartop counter that divided the living room and kitchen. He had seen the massive house only once, when Will took him inside and brought him out of his pocket. After Charles had gone into the trinket house, he hadn’t come out again until now.

Once he pushed the door closed behind him, it was darker than ever.

An instinctive fear rooted through him as he gazed at the darkness. His surroundings seemed to go on forever, the shadows masking the true size of it all. 

His eyes gradually adjusted, though it did little to calm his nerves. Whether he could see or not didn’t change the fact that the foreign landscape around him is inaccessible. Still, he was determined to search for some means of escape that would give him peace of mind. 

He didn’t plan on making a run for it tonight. He just needed to know that there was a way out. Just in case.

After walking up and down along the bartop, he found that he could safely reach the kitchen counter with the help of some spice jars right below him. His vantage point was slightly lower, but it meant one more area he could explore for passages.

As he wandered past a cutting board, he shivered and wished he’d brought a blanket to keep around his shoulders. The lasting effects of sitting in that shallow puddle of beer were more alarming than he could have imagined. It had taken him an entire day to stop trembling.

He didn’t notice the sink until he fell into it. A painful metallic thud rattled around him. He bit back a shout and held perfectly still, terrified of accidentally slipping too close to the drain. He breathed heavily and cursed himself for not paying better attention. 

“Great,” he muttered.

Weak in the knees, he got to his feet and braced his hand on the stainless steel wall to ensure that he stayed near it. He looked straight up, able to make out the top of the sink above him. There was absolutely no way he could reach it, and the walls were perfectly smooth with nothing to climb on.

He was trapped.

There was nothing that could be done about it—he needed to call for help. But he couldn’t bring himself to shout or scream. The minutes ticked by as he mustered up the nerve. The other trinkets would hear him first. And even if they did, what could they do to help besides call for Will?

Sighing heavily, Charles sank to a seat and kneaded his temples. This was more than embarrassing—it was terrifying. In a matter of seconds, he had managed to strip himself of what little agency he had.

And then, even the decision of whether or not to call for help didn’t matter anymore.

A distant creak rang out—the giant springs of a bed shifting. Heavy footsteps followed closely after, making their way down the hall.

The kitchen light flipped on, momentarily blinding Charles. He brought his arm in front of his eyes and held his breath as he heard the sounds of Will making his way around the kitchen. 

The footsteps came closer and closer until Will was looming right over the sink with a kettle in hand. 

Charles locked eyes with him for only a moment, too humiliated to do anything except look down at the metallic floor of the sink. He flinched at the sound of Will swiftly setting the kettle aside.

“Charles?” Will whispered.

Breath sharpening, Charles hugged his arms. Will had to know that he was looking for an escape. Why else would he be sneaking around in the dark when everything he needed was right in the trinket house?

“Are you hurt?” 

Shadows darkened. Charles looked up to see a colossal hand filling his vision. Gasping, Charles lurched away and put his back against a steel corner. There was no point. Nowhere to go. There was no shutting off the instinct to try to get away, though.

Will drew his hand back slightly, fingers curling in like an assurance that he didn’t plan to snatch up Charles. Their gazes stayed silently locked for several seconds. Somehow, Will’s stare managed to be distant and overwhelming all at once.

“Are you hurt?” Will repeated.

The firm tone finally inspired Charles to shake his head. With a sinking heart, he accepted that he would get nowhere without Will’s help. He was entirely reliant upon his mercy, just like when he was stuck in the beer can.

“You’re shivering.” Will eyed him sadly. His hand inched closer again and made Charles go rigid. “Can I touch you? Please, Charles. I want to help you.”

When Charles couldn’t make himself answer, Will brought his hand closer nonetheless. Instead of grabbing, he laid his palm out. For a moment, Charles could only gape. Was this some kind of power trip—offering a choice that wasn’t really a choice? It was better than simply scooping him up, he supposed.

Steeling himself, Charles pried himself away from the wall and stepped forward onto Will’s hand. His skin was achingly warm. Charles’ nerves weren’t sure whether to melt into relief or seize up at the helplessness of his perch. 

When Will lifted him out of the sink, Charles expected to be placed back in front of the trinket house and prodded back inside. Instead, Will considered him for a few seconds before whisking him to the other side of the kitchen. Charles flinched as the hand lowered to the counter, not far from the stove.

“W-what are you doing?” Charles said.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Will returned to the sink and picked up the kettle. “I got up to make tea. Would you like some?”

Not wanting to offend, Charles nodded immediately. After setting the kettle on the stove to heat up, Will opened one of the upper cabinets. It was filled with jars and bottles of loose-leaf tea. He looked from the bottles to Charles several times, his expression one of deep concentration. Finally, he grabbed a container.

The silence between them was anything but relaxing in Charles’ mind. He watched Will’s every move as he grabbed a mug and a steeper to measure out the dried leaves. Charles found himself taking several steps back each time that Will made any vague motion in his general direction.

After a while, there was nothing to do but wait for the tea to steep. Now, there wasn’t even any movement to break up the silence.

“You’re not mad?” Charles finally blurted.

Will cocked his head. “About what?”

“I… I was out. Walking around.”

The confusion on Will’s face was short-lived, replaced with gloom. He sighed. “You still think you’re a prisoner.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, Charles couldn’t help but scoff. “Well… Can you blame me? It’s hard not to feel trapped when there’s no way to get to the floor. No way to get anywhere except the kitchen counter.”

Silence again, and no movement on Will’s part. He frowned, not quite looking at Charles. All the same, that unreadable expression made Charles wish he’d kept his mouth shut.

Then Will nodded. “That’s a good point. I’ll see what I can do. Some kind of system to make everything feel within reach. Maybe a stairway that leads down into the lower cabinets? Something that’ll keep you all safe, though, Nothing that leads right to the middle of the floor.” He went quiet, zoning out into his plans for nearly a full minute.  His eyes snapped suddenly to Charles, making him flinch. “What do you think?”

“I… Yeah. Yeah, that sounds great.”

Will stared for a beat longer, then busied himself by using a spoon to pour out a position of his tea for Charles into a tiny cup. “You’re shaking again,” he said, softer. “I’m sorry. I know I… I’m trying not to be scary. Sorry. You can go back inside if you’d rather not be… here.” Around me, his eyes said.

“No, it’s not—it’s not that,” Charles said hurriedly. It was certainly part of it, though he tried to stuff it down. “I’m still recovering. Chills and all that, you know.”

“Maybe this can help, then.” Will’s gaze drifted back down to the tea. He set the little cup in front of Charles, then seemed unsure what to do with himself for several moments. 

After Charles inched forward and grabbed the cup, Will took a step closer and offered his hand again. It wasn’t an invitation to climb on—instead, he rested his palm sideways near Charles, like a warm wall to lean against. Will said nothing, only giving Charles a gentle, imploring look to trust him.

It could still be a trick to win him over, Charles thought. But there was an exhausted quality to Will’s actions that didn’t seem possible to fake. Had all the other trinkets been as terrified as him? Had Ramona? Whatever the case, Will didn’t seem at all shocked that Charles didn’t trust him. He appeared weary—something that shouldn’t have been true for someone so impossibly towering.

Holding tightly to his cup, Charles stepped closer to Will’s hand. This time, he was prepared for Will's body heat, and he didn’t resist it. He lowered himself to a seat and leaned his side against Will’s palm. For a second, he forgot to breathe. There was tension in Will’s hand as though he was just as nervous. But as the warmth fully settled in, Will couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief. This was better than any blanket had to offer. 

“Thank you,” Charles murmured. His brief glance upward revealed that Will was observing him expectantly.

“Can you be honest if you want a different flavor of tea?” Will asked reverently. 

Charles almost laughed. After having nothing but alcohol for his span as a trinket, the thought of refusing anything else was insane. Still, he nodded his assurance.

He brought the tea to his lips and took a sip. He felt Will watching raptly for his reaction. There was no need to fake positivity out of politeness—the tea was delicious. It was just the right temperature, with a hint of apple and honey that made Charles shut his eyes blissfully for a second. He swore he felt Will’s hand relax at his side, gentle fingers curling closer reflexively.

When he opened his eyes, he saw a faint smile on Will’s face overhead. The first he’d seen from him.

((Author's note: Returning to Charles' trustbuilding area brought me so much joy :') And once again, Will's ability to pick the perfect tea for everyone he meets comes in handy 💕))

[bltzgore]

Got a really specific scene idea:

Giant caretaker is throwing down with giant whumper, or scrapping, and whumpee is hanging on to their shoulder, trying to manage to keep from getting crushed. All until caretaker is put on their back, serious head injury or air knocked out of them. This is when whumper notices whumpee who is crawling out trying to get caretaker to snap out of it. Whumper steps on caretaker's chest, then reaches down and plucks whumpee off their shoulder. Caretaker struggles against whumper's foot, but everything's still too fuzzy and fluid.

"Whats this? Caretaker got themself a pet!" Whumper holds them between two fingers, looking them over. Maybe squishing them like a stress toy and cracking a few bones.

Whumpee screams, shaking and scrambling, prying futily at the fingers holding them there.

Caretaker is attempting to grapple with whumper's foot. "Stop it! STOP IT! Leave them alone!"

Whumper smirks looking down at caretaker, "You shouldn't play with your food, though." Then back to whumpee, "I dont." And opens their mouth.

Whumpee's eyes go wide as they look down, into the dark.

"NO!"

[angstylittleguy]

Like A Moth to A Flame

With Rory's mind reading ability, she is able to pick up the emotions of people around her-- including nightmares. When Bennett has a nightmare about his abilities that brings back bad memories, Rory gets a taste of what keeps him up at night.

tw: implied death, car crash

character context: Rory is a mind reader that is unable to control her ability. The voices in her head are constant and the emotions of the people around her are often inflicted onto her. Bennett frequently gets stuck in time loops and the only way to get the loop to end is for him to survive the day.

word count: ~800 words

-> In Which Everything Goes Wonderfully Wrong masterpost link: Here

-> character introductions and moodboards: Here

Rory jerked herself awake, her heart racing and breathing ragged. She threw off the headphones she had on, the loud music she had playing that normally helped her sleep suddenly ceasing, now only a soft echo in the quiet room. Reaching to her nightstand and fumbling around for her phone, a bright light blinded her as she checked the time.

3:27am.

She couldn’t explain what she was feeling, but she was just so undeniably sad.

It felt like being hit by a tidal wave of emotions, overwhelming her with a terrible sense of pain and death. She was drowning, unable to stop the tears that streamed down her face. Her chest was tight, like she couldn’t breathe as she gasped for air. Rory mourned for a loss she didn’t understand, sobbing in silence for what felt like a lifetime.

The room was dark, enveloping her in its blanket of black. She sat there for a long time, information flooding her mind as tears continued to fall. 

Finally, when she was able to gather herself, she climbed out of bed. The cold hard floor made her feet ache as she trekked into the hall, making her way to Meiling’s bedroom. Lightly, Rory knocked on the door before creaking it open. The room was dark, but she could easily tell that Meiling was fast asleep, dreams filled with pleasantries. Silently, Rory closed the door and made her way to the living room.

The TV was still on, playing some kind of kid’s cartoon, and Josiah was sleeping soundly on the couch. She switched the television off and threw a blanket over him, before going to check on Dalton and Bennett. 

When she opened Dalton’s door, he immediately looked to her. He had been on his phone, the dim light shining bright in the darkness. His face was full of worry, wondering why Rory had barged into his room at three in the morning. Dalton removed one of his earbuds. “Is everything okay?”

 Rory quickly nodded, wiping her eyes with the heel of her palm. She wasn’t sure if she could bring herself to speak, the lingering sadness still clutching at her throat. She swiftly shut the door and moved to Bennett’s room, knocking twice before opening the door.

He was in nothing but his plaid pajama pants, sitting on top of the covers and cradling himself, his ankles crossed and knees pulled close to his chest. Seeing Rory standing in the hall, he quickly wiped his eyes and waited for her to speak.

“Are you okay?” She whispered.

“Yeah,” he replied, “why wouldn’t I be?”

She stared at his tear-stained cheeks and red eyes that could be seen even in the dark. Tears began to fall from her own eyes as she wrapped her arms around herself. “I know you’re not.”

A choked sob escaped Bennett’s lips, his walls immediately crumbling when she called his bluff. She swiftly moved to him, sitting down next to him. There was hesitation, but as tears started falling from his eyes, he wrapped Rory in a hug and hunched over on himself, making himself small.

The dark seemed to surround them as they sat in silence, both mourning for a loss that only one of them understood. She ran her hand through his hair, trying to offer as much comfort as she was able as he sobbed into her shirt. 

Bennett’s arms were wrapped around her torso, squeezing her into a tight hug as they continued to cry. Rory tried to piece everything running through Bennett’s rampant mind together, but his thoughts were so jumbled and overwhelming that she had no idea where to start. 

 “Death follows me like a moth to a fucking flame,” Bennett murmured. “And I’m always the only one who survives.” 

Images of a car crash flashed through her mind in that moment, tires screeching and the feeling of a seatbelt tight against her chest. There was screaming and disorientation, glass flying and embedding itself in skin, and an almost overwhelming sense of sadness. 

 “I know saying sorry doesn’t help, but I am sorry. For everything you’ve been through. And I’m sorry you had to go through it alone.”

Bennett was quiet, his eyes shut as he continued to cling to Rory like a lifeline. 

 “Do you want to talk about it?” Rory asked after a moment.

He shook his head. “I just want to stay like this… just a little while longer.”

"I'm not going anywhere."

[scratchandplaster]

Small Delights

CW: tiny Whumpee, non-human Whumpee, dubious Caretaker/Carewhumper, referenced nudity (non-sexual), it as a pronoun, conditioning

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The sun set beautifully behind the hills, yellows and pinks flowing through the window and letting the light reflect onto the glass panels that separated the tiny creature from the rest of the room. Surrounded by ferns and luscious greenery, they tended to forget that the square they called home wasn't bigger than a tree stump.

Lifting themself up from a mossy stone, graceful wings unfolded and stretched their full potential, they hopped down onto the soft earthy ground. Always cleaned and looked after, just like themself.

They pressed their face tightly against the closest pane, cool to the touch and speckled with water droplets. It liked to make the air around them heavy with drizzle, always misting the plants from above. It would be here soon, just like every evening.

Letting a quiet yawn escape their mouth, the creature barely taller than a mouse let the bright orange wings flutter in the last beams of sunlight. To the unaided eye, the missing spots in their pattern were invisible, chitin scales stacking on top of each other like bark. Stunning to watch, useless as always.

The air began to whir in a familiar frequency; it had arrived and made its way closer towards the transparent world they learned to inhabit. Fear had long faded from their mind, too familiar was the daily ritual it taught them since their rise from the cocoon. 

As it entered the room, unintelligible rumbling was directed towards them, and the giant shape removed the cover above their head.

They would love to know what they were saying, but apart from gestures, the communication with this titan was hopeless. It seemed to desire only one thing anyway, so all study would be a waste of effort.

The lid wasn't made out of any material they knew, it didn't feel like natures' product, no living element they could connect with. The hollow branch they used to hide in always provided a sense of comfort, of a home they had to have before...this. Hidden memories of the life prior to their transformation felt like faded dreams now.

Lowering its hand slowly into their playground, the expectant fingers waited for their cooperation. Climbing gingerly onto its palm, a few strong flaps of their wings helped with getting placed onto the rough skin beneath. They were meant to sit now, flipping wayward specks of dirt and moss away from their limbs, uncovered and delicate as a young nymph.

Back in the early days of their amity, they tried to flit and make the whole ordeal easier for both of them, but after a vicious grab and shake they learned to leave such decisions up to their gracious host. Never given the chance to try further, flying seemed pointless anyway. Maybe they weren't made for it after all.

The appendage lifted them out of the glass and up to its eyes, two dark spheres not much different to their own stared down at them.

Today must have been pleasant for it, the joyous expression mirrored clearly by their tiny guest made it act even more excited. A gentle grumble left its lips, nearly a purr. It had to have a successful hunt, they pondered.

Careful not to lose balance, the hand lifted the winged creature onto their chosen place: a cushion seat for their ritual. Bringing themself into position, they prayed to get it over with quickly today, thinking of the sweet reward that would follow.

The rummaging behind them stopped, as it too sat down and began what they could only describe as pleasant torture: hundreds of hairs started to tickle the edge of their wings, stroking leisurely across the vibrant tones one could only see in autumn. 

It didn't hurt them as the brushing kept its steady pace, or when it dipped lower on their wing to graze the spot in the pattern that reminded them of an eye. It didn't hurt when the pressure of the bristles against them rose, and it didn't hurt when the chitin plates that gave their wings shape and color began to shed across the floor.

Like snowflakes in a storm, the warm hues gracing their body were dusted off, tearing spots next to the fine veins throughout.

Deep down, they knew it made them lose their power. And this hurt, but only when they listened to the buried instinct that told them to resist against the loving mishandling.

After what felt like an eternity, the strokes became gentle again, like a breeze on their figure, and travelled down to where wing met skin.

Their upper back was being freed of crumbs and remaining scales, as the hairs moved downwards in long strokes to grant their legs and arms the same kind of attention. It worked thorough, leaving their body warm and tingly. Their head was last, patted down with a few quick swoops of its tool, marking the end of the routine.

Freed of any leftover grime, the pleasant shivers lulled them into a calm state, ready to drift off in its care. Before they could rest, it pressed a quick kiss between their wings, earning itself a whimper under its lips.

Breathing deeply, it lifted them up again to lay under the light they prepared in advance. The slight buzz of the heat above made them even sleepier, already willing to settle down onto the soft fabric.

It loved to arrange these little surprises for them, the nest it built allowed for enough space to stretch and settle down. So safe under the watchful eyes of their host, they folded their wings together, keeping them as close to their body as possible.

One could not wish for everything in life, at least they were far away from any predators or storms they could fell victim to.

Flying wasn't necessary then, right?

It meant well, they were certain, but they would give everything to explain the misunderstanding to it.

Still, to stay here was the better option, in the safety and comfort it loved to provide them. They called themself ungrateful, as they bathed the treacherous fantasy of the world beyond the glass.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterpost]

[ehlnofay]

19 for the worldbuilding prompts + Torr?

the profound quiet of a small settlement at night

North Eastmarch is freezing cold all over, but it wears different outside the city than within.

Torr would never call Windhelm warm – not even in summer months, no matter how used to it they are – but what little heat it has it clings to with great determination. The walls huddle together, trapping the air so that it’s either still and muggy or a howling wind, like each close-knit house is breathing in tandem. The heat of the people run up and down its streets, blood through its knotted stone veins. The city is alive, an ecosystem unto itself; its snow, dark with footprints, runs sludgy down the roads; a fireplace is always burning somewhere.

Outside of the walls, surrounded by nothing but empty air and snow-laden trees, a slow-moving stream running with barely a burble – it feels dead, in contrast. Silent. Branches reach needle-sharp across the blue-black sky, the ground is gleaming white and undisturbed by anyone else’s footprints, and the nearest fire is the barely visible gleam of the Kynesgrove mining camp, up the hill and through the sporadic spindles of the trees. The breeze ghosts past Torr’s neck and whips the mud-stained snow into a flurry.

In the city, Torr’s comfortable sleeping almost anywhere – as comfortable as they ever get, anyway. Some of the buildings have great gaps under the porch where the snow can’t reach and no-one ever finds them; there’s places in the nooks of the walls, and sheds built into the side of the house that people don’t lock, and Torr knows a few people besides who don’t mind him kipping on their floor every now and again, as long as he doesn’t ask too often. The outside isn’t like that. There’s not many places to go. He’s lurking around Kynesgrove tonight – on his way back from a quick venture out to get some things done that pay better than running errands around the markets – and there aren’t many options. The inn, which he can’t afford – the mine, which would be warm but is very guarded – the miner’s encampment or someone’s house, both of which would most likely result in being chased off. Besides, there’s a performative element to meeting people, especially adults, in strange places, and Torr’s not in the mood to play to strangers. So much of his being is caught up in Windhelm’s grimy alleys, tangled in the hair and fingers of its discarded children; he doesn’t know how to be himself away from it all.

But they don’t have to, seeing as there’s the rickety old sawmill on the edge of a stream feeding into the harbour. It’s not bad, as shelter goes; no walls, so the wind rubs its fingers wraithlike down Torr’s cheeks and tangles them in his hair, but at least there’s a roof. It looks newly thatched, too, the floorboards free of rot, the water-wheel still chugging creakily along. There’s no wood to cut here, all the nearby surrounding trees too scraggy to be worth the bother. The only big ones are part of the grove up on the hill. There’s no point in keeping the mill running, but Torr is glad it is; he watches the distant firelight flickering through the scrub, and listens to the splashing of the wheel. It’s proof that people and the things they make do still exist – if not necessarily here.

It really feels dead, out in the cold, with the leafless trees and the wind that doesn’t even whisper. It always does. It’s a bit discomfiting, which is maybe why Torr doesn’t go on out-of-city endeavours as often as perhaps he could; but really, there’s not work out here enough to make it worth it. There’s always problems with bandits on the road, but Torr’s not a good enough fighter for bounty work; there’s collecting plants and things to sell Nurelion, but that’s easy enough to do on a day trip. (And, really, it’s more for Torr’s own enjoyment, besides. They never even venture far south enough to get to the sulphur pools, which is where the more interesting things grow.)

This trip, though, is an outlier. Unusually efficient. Just a quick job for Niranye, scouting a merchant’s cart on the road – almost definitely for something shady, but that’s not Torr’s business, and it was too much money too easy to turn down. And then – just earlier today, foraging out in the wilderness as best as Torr (a distinctly urban animal) knows how – they’d come across a giant’s corpse, stiff and white as the snow it lay in. Torr’s no master alchemist but they know the value of a cadaver when it comes to brewing alloys and admixtures, so they set to with their blunt-edged dagger and now they’ve got a sack full of what may as well be gold. (Long as it doesn’t start to rot before they can get Nurelion to preserve it, anyway.)

Torr’s going to be rolling in it when they get back to Windhelm. They could use that money for nearly anything – pay off a few things they borrowed, new warm things now that winter’s coming back strong, bedrolls, waterskins. Endless options – which, strangely, is more exciting than it is burdensome.

It’s all the sort of decision that would ordinarily feel life-or-death urgent but right now feels – not small. Not insignificant, not at all, but distant. A choice to be made at another time, by another person.

(Torr’s whole being belongs to Windhelm’s back streets. They’re someone else, away from it all.)

That’s the other thing about leaving the city, spending time in the discomfiting slow-paced ghost-world outside. It’s quiet. Torr sits surrounded by the wind in the trees, the lazy murmur of the stream, the creak of the water-wheel, and nothing else.

He’s been called a worrywart (mostly by Griss in a strop) but to tell the truth he doesn’t think that’s true. Torr doesn’t fuss for the sake of fussing, he just doesn’t like to leave things undone; can’t stop until he finds a solution. Out here, alone, in the empty cold, there are no solutions to find – same old problems back home, he knows, but no steps he can take at this time to right them. That’s never true while he’s in the city, so he can never stop thinking about it, every choice and action accompanied by a buzzing background chorus of everything else he really should be doing – that really should have been done by now – that should never have been left undone this long, what was he thinking? Everything is urgent when it’s doable. But here and now, there’s nothing to do.

So Torr sits hunched on the board floor of the ramshackle watermill, huddled among their heaps of bags and blankets, and thinks of nothing at all.

Not strictly true. They think of supper – haven’t eaten since an apple this morning, except for some snowberries they found around noon, and it’s been a long day. They nabbed some turnips from the garden of the Kynesgrove inn on their way to the mill. They’re fresh, if nothing else – also covered in dirt, so Torr rises reluctantly from their pile of stuff to crouch on the banks of the stream and dip the vegetables in to clean them off. It aches like hell, the frozen water turning their joints to ice – they almost drop the turnip they’re washing, so they scrub it as best they can with the frigid pad of their thumb and whip their hands out of the water soon as they’re able. They stick their fingers in their mouth to warm them back up.

Even after all that time spent warming up their hands, arraying all their belongings back around themself to conserve body heat, the turnips are still cold enough to hurt Torr’s teeth when he bites in. He eats them anyway, relishing a little in the unearthly silence and the aching of his lips and palms. They taste delicious.

With nothing else to do after, the gnawing of his stomach sated, he wraps himself in his shawl and stares up the hill at the camp’s fire until it goes out. The stars wink into brighter being. The wind whistles through the whip-thin branches of the trees. The water-wheel creaks.

Torr sleeps, but he feels like he hears it all – a silent observer, an echo, a beginning – until morning.

[spinylizardz]

Dreamweaver Character Profiles #1 - The Caretaker