#kind caretaker

[the-baby-storyteller]

Cw for minor whump

Adoption Whump

Think a teenaged character in an orphanage or foster care. They’d always had a relatively good life; despite being orphaned their home was always filled with lots of other kids like them and they were happy. But, they’d heard horror stories of the horrible lives kids lived after adoption. Lives of abuse, of fear, of pain. They’d be put through endless torment, used, thrown around and beaten up, degraded simply because they were helpless, without a family, without a way to call for help. They shuddered at the thought, but surely, those stories were just that right? Stories. They were satisfied with their comfortable life, and if they ever got adopted, well, they were sure it couldn’t be that bad.

They were right on one front.

It wasn’t bad.

It was worse than they could have ever imagined.

The home seemed nice from the outside, a beautiful exterior, lush greenery, fountains sprawled over the grounds. Everything appeared to be perfect. To the average onlooker it would seem like a luxurious place for anyone to reside. It only made the reality of the situation ten times worse. Once inside, though still littered with decoration, the atmosphere was different. A threatening and frightening energy lingered in the air and the teen turned slowly toward their new owner. And that’s when it began.

The pain.

If asked, the teen couldn’t tell you what their daily life there was like. It was all jumbled together and fuzzy, their thoughts incoherent, clouded by suffering. There was only one thing that remained stable the whole time.

Hurt. Beatings. Pain. Anger. Hands. Kicks. Punches. Pain.

Each day was filled with impossible loads of tasks to accomplish.

Clean every inch of the house and do the laundry. Cook dinner and take care of my kids. Go out to buy groceries and entertain the guests. And I want this done before I get back.

They didn't talk to anyone except to be reprimanded for things out of their control. Every word said to them was meant to beat down, to crush. And when, not if, they didn't complete the overwhelming amount of work...well, they didn't like to talk about what happened then.

They went through life with eyes glazed over and a mind that constantly wished to be away, away from life, away from reality. The only thing they wanted was to leave.

Then, they were adopted by a rich person.

When they heard the news, they grew even more draw in and frighteningly quiet. Their old foster parent was overjoyed to get rid of them which only made them more fearful for what was to come, terrified of what their new parent owner would do to them.

They arrived at the new house and were in awe of how grand it was. Every crevice of the exterior was fully decorated to display their wealth. But, the only thing it could make the teen think of was how much worse they would be hurt here.

They heard footsteps approaching and immediately directed their head downward, trying to radiate submission and not wanting to anger their new owner.

The footsteps got closer and they hunched in further as their heart rate sped up, until finally two feet stopped in front of them. They held their breath for a moment, waiting for something to happen, a word, and order, a sigh, a kick or a slap even. A hand suddenly came into their view and they held back a flinch, but it just slowly rose until it gently met their cheek.

"Hi." A soft voice said.

Their heart jumped and they widened their eyes. That voice was smoother than anything they'd heard before.

"Can I see your face?"

The teen blinked dumbly for a moment, then registered they were being spoken to, not spoken at and had to hold back a jump at the unfamiliarity of the question. Why would they ask me-

"What's your name, love?"

The teen realized too late that they'd taken too long to respond, lost in their own worries and thoughts. They quivered slightly at the consequences of ignoring their owner and being reproached already, but..

'Love...'

"W-Whumpee..." The teen whispered quietly, lowering their eyes and wishing they could curl in on themself and become smaller. They couldn't ignore a direct question, but were terrified knowing talking was a sure way to get into trouble. But the hand that was still on their face wasn't letting them escape.

Against their expectations, they weren't scorned or spit at for saying their name. Instead they heard a light response.

"Hello, Whumpee," They could almost hear the smile (smile?) in the voice, "My name is Caretaker."

"Would you look at me, dear?"

Their breath caught and their eyes darted around as their brain hastened to find the right thing to say. They couldn't in good conscience look their owner in the eye but the certainly couldn't disobey an order. Amidst their wrestling, they must have absently nodded their head because, to their terror, the hand on their cheek started raising their face.

Their breathing picked up but there was nothing they could do except let it happen until they were finally face to face with the person who would control their fate for the foreseeable future. They expected to see a harsh, stony face to match their status, but instead were met with overwhelming calm, a warm aura, and a tender charm that made them want to melt. Caretaker oozed control and confidence, and the teen could tell they held a lot of power; they held themself high, were dressed in sophisticated clothing, and Whumpee had to crane their neck to meet their gaze. And yet, there was a soft feeling about them and their face was filled with kindness.

"Thank you." Caretaker smiled with squinty eyes that reminded them of the little kids at the orphan home.

The teen had never been more confused, afraid, and in the presence of such serenity all at once.

[i-write-whump]

When the whumpee finds the caretaker intimidating, so when they get hurt, they try to hide it from them. Them managing to hide it for a few hours, but getting caught when they end up bleeding through their bandages and onto their clothes in front of the caretaker. The caretaker noticing, and asking the whumpee why there’s blood on their clothes, and the whumpee trying to brush off their concern. The caretaker not believing the whumpee, and asking them to sit down and let them see what’s wrong. The whumpee hesitantly doing so, and the caretaker taking a minute to look at the wound, then grabbing a first aid kit and patching them up properly. The whumpee being surprised with how careful the caretaker is, and so when the caretaker gently asks why they didn't ask for help sooner, the whumpee admitting that they were intimidated. The caretaker being caught off guard by this, since they’ve never thought they seemed intimidating, and them reassuring the whumpee that it’s okay to come to them if they’re sick or hurt, and that they’d rather know so they can help. The whumpee tentatively agreeing to tell them in the future, and the caretaker making sure to keep a closer eye on them in the future, just incase they hide something again.

[whumpropaganda]

Whumpee manages to use a fork and feed themself off a plate for the first time since their rescue. They only manage to take a few bites before they get too anxious to keep eating like the person that their caretaker insists they are. 

[whumprince]

When whumpee flee from their captivity but, because of their physical and mental state, they collapse in the middle of a forest and are found by a complete stranger that turns out to take care of them even not knowing a single thing of who they are and why they were in that state.

[urlocalwhumper]

living weapon whumpee who's never known anything but pain and violence.

their existence hurts. they were made to be effective, not happy, and their masters decided that keeping them in constant pain provided better results. they're wilder, more unpredictable, and the pain keeps them from thinking straight enough to question anything.

they're only given painkillers, only allowed a respite from their seemingly endless suffering, after a successful mission. it keeps them loyal, and most importantly, teaches their brain to associate acts of violence with relief and rewards.

everyone they've ever met has treated them as a tool, a monster, or both. they don't know how to be anything else.

that is until they're rampaging through a village, destroying, killing, whatever their masters demand of them. whatever will give them a few blissful hours of numbness.

one of the villagers steps out of a ruined building and looks them straight in the eyes. whumpee expects fear, hatred, disgust, the things they see in the faces of every person who's ever crossed their path. but they see something completely different.

compassion.

whumpee is so stunned, they don't think to move or do anything at all as the villager steps closer, gently reaching out a hand to cup whumpee's face.

"oh, poor thing." they murmur, taking in the creature in front of them - part human, part animal, part machine. "they've done a number on you, huh?"

whumpee blinks at them. pain continues to course through their body, but the gentle hand on their cheek distracts them, even if just a little. all the indistinct noise in their foggy, addled mind finally goes quiet.

caretaker had stepped out in front of the being destroying their home with the intention to get through to it or die trying, and the expectation to absolutely die trying.

they did not at all expect the seemingly feral mishmash of metal, fur, and flesh to lean so heavily into their touch that they nearly collapsed into caretaker's arms.

[feverflushed]

When the whumpee is really, REALLY out of it with a high fever, and it's making them really worried and anxious, so their partner has to reassure them, explaining every little thing they're doing to whumpee.

"I'm going to put a nice cold towel on your head, honey, it's going to feel really pleasant."

"You can't keep lying in those sweat drenched bedsheets. I'm going to change them for you, okay? Fresh, dry sheets feel so much better."

"I'm going to give you a little sponge bath, alright? Just some lukewarm water and a soft sponge..."

"Are you tired, love? I'll dim the lights for you so you can take a nap. And it'll help with your headache."

"I'm going to take your temperature again, dear, we need to keep an eye on that fever of yours... I know that the thermometer feels really cold, but bear with me for a moment...."

[the-broken-pen]

“You’re going to blow out your arms,” the villain observed. They watched as the hero merely grit their teeth, shoving themself through another pull-up. It looked painful, and if the sweat slicking the hero’s brow was any indication, it was.

They waited for the hero to let themself drop from the bar and accept the villain was stronger. But they didn’t.

Three more pull-ups, and the villain stepped in.

“Hero,” they said slowly. “You’re about to tear the ligaments in your arms. You need to stop.”

The hero blew out a shuddering breath. Struggled for purchase, fighting gravity—and let themself drop.

The hero’s hands were bleeding, calluses torn open by the bar. The hero didn’t seem bothered when their own hands shook so much that their blood began to splatter on the gym floor.

For a moment, the villain could only stare at them.

Shit.

They didn’t know how to handle this. They knew the hero was dedicated. They knew the hero was strong, and perpetually trying to be stronger, but they hadn’t thought…

They hadn’t thought the hero would be so willing to tear apart their own body for success.

It was supposed to be fun, the villain thought. They felt a little sick as the hero pressed their palms together to soothe the bleeding, an action that was practiced and familiar. As if they had done this before.

The hero reached for something in their bag, smearing blood on the side, and pulled out a roll of blue electrical tape. The villain didn’t understand why, until the hero tore a strip off and made to wrap their hands with it.

The hero would be the death of them.

They crouched in front of the hero, plucking the electrical tape out of their hands.

“What are you doing with this?”

The hero blinked at the villain like they were the strange one in this situation.

“Wrapping my hands?”

The villain hissed in a breath.

“With electrical tape?”

The hero flushed slightly, looking down at their bloody hands. They looked close to tears.

“It…sticks to skin, really well. And it doesn’t move, either, when you move your hands or wherever else, even if you’re fighting. Plus, blood doesn’t make it come off, at least, not for a while.”

The villain blinked at them.”

“Blood doesn’t make it come off,” the villain repeated, processing. The hero nodded, reaching for the electrical tape. The villain settled it out of reach.

“Not if you wrap it right.”

Dimly, the villain realized that meant the hero had done this enough times to have it down to a science.

“And you couldn’t use a bandaid?” The villain asked incredulously. The hero shrugged a shoulder, then winced at the motion.

Yeah, the hero had absolutely blown out their arms.

“Bandaids move—“

The villain hushed them.

“Be quiet for a second.”

The hero, wisely, went quiet.

The villain rubbed a hand over their face, then studied the hero for a moment. They took one of the hero’s hands into their own, studying the damage.

“Why did you do this to yourself,” the villain murmured.

“What do you mean, why,” the hero snapped. “It’s my job.”

“Your job is to save people,” the villain corrected. “Not destroy yourself.”

“I’m not destroying myself—“

“You are.”

“Shut up—“

“Hero.”

“I need to be better,” the hero snapped. Their voice rang out across the gym, echoing into the rafters, and they both froze. After a moment, the hero spoke again, voice soft. “I need to be better.”

They said it like they needed the villain to understand. The villain wondered who they were really saying it to—the villain, or themself.

“Better than who?”

“Everyone.” It was hushed, like a secret.

The villain watched them, waiting.

The hero took a shaky breath

“My whole thing is being the best. I have always been the best. That’s the only reason I matter. If I’m not strong enough, then I am nothing, so I need. to be. better.”

The hero had started crying, very quietly, like they were afraid to take up too much space.

The villain was not equipped to handle gifted kid burnout.

“There’s more to you than just being a good athlete,” the villain said hesitantly, and the hero shook their head.

“No. There isn’t.”

“Hero.”

“Can you give me back my electrical tape?” They hiccuped to contain a sob.

“No,” the villain said firmly, and then the hero really was sobbing.

“You don’t understand—“

The villain didn’t. Not really. They had never been the kind of talented that the hero was.

They wondered now if maybe that was a blessing.

“I don’t,” the villain agreed. “But I do understand that you’ve saved half the city, and you give everything you have to give, and you always do your best.”

“But I-“

“No.” The villain stopped them. “You are doing your best.” They tipped the hero’s chin up until they met the villain’s eyes. “And it is enough.”

The hero froze, eyes darting over the villain’s face. They wondered if anyone had ever said that to the hero, if whatever mentor they had was giving them anything other than orders to be stronger. Be better. Be more.

The villain had some new targets to take care of, it would seem.

For now, though, they had to take care of hero.

“We’re going to go wrap your hands,” they said softly. “And then we’re going to take care of your arms, and you’re going to take a nap.”

The hero nodded, watching them like they were some kind of good, selfless person.

“And if I ever catch you using electrical tape again, so help me, I will put you six feet under.”

That startled a laugh out of the hero, and they let the villain guide them to their feet.

“Fine.”

The villain turned to them. “Okay?”

Are you going to be alright?

The hero seemed to understand.

“Okay,” the hero agreed.

Yes.

And so, it was.

[jordanstrophe]

Whumpee was abandoned by their team. They were deemed "too risky to go back for '' and considered a tragic loss. Whumpee's world was crumbling as they accepted their fate-

"What are you doing here?" A gentle voice asked. "Where are your friends?"

Whumpee scooted their knees to their chin and sighed in defeat, "Somewhere safe, I hope." They muttered.

"Well it's not safe here. Come come, off the ground." They extended their hand as whumpee looked up. They had never known the face of their enemy, but they didn't know this face either. It felt like they had no option but to take their hand.

"That's it. Let's get out of here, shall we? It seems I'm separated from my group as well. Let's cautch up to them." They warmly gripped whumpee to their side.

"And maybe you could join us." Whumper smiled.  

[Heehee here's a part 2]

[Oh no here's a Masterlist]

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

rescued whumpees are good but they're even better when they're fucking feral.

kicking, hollering, biting, scratching anyone who even tries to come near them, let alone touch them in any capacity.

huddling themself up in a corner or under furniture as some sort of escape.

literally growling/hissing, glaring at everyone with shifty and untrusting eyes, ready to pounce the moment they see a chance at escape.

not believing the hand reaching to bandage their wound won't make them hurt even worse afterwards.

gaining and losing trust with a caretaker in half a second when they move too fast or try to touch something that hurts.

having to be worked with for days, weeks, months just to get them to settle down when another person occupies the same space as them.

only bonding with other whumpees who were only just recently rescued as well, immediately sensing a similar distress and trying to comfort them

becoming twice as feral when it comes to 'protecting' said whumpee friend from all these people that just want to help

making so much progress in learning how to be comfortable with someone, only to have it undone by an innocent mistake that triggers their past abuse

latching on to one specific caretaker only and being a hellion with anyone else because they're just not the same

causing such a ruckus for so long that it's unnaturally eerie to see them quiet and submissive when a certain face appears to offer their assistance in taming them...

[zoethehead]

A whumpee trained as a soldier is injured in battle, and they lay covered in dirt and blood, the hectic warfare surrounding them. Another person was nearby, holding them close, shouting for someone....possibly a medic or the enemy about to take them hostage. They're going in and out of consciousness, unable to breathe as the smoke burnt at their throat and lungs. They passed out, mumbling something as they're dragged away by someone.....

The whumpee expected to be dead, or at least captured by the enemy and left in a cold cell with their wounds poorly treated, but that's not the case....

as the next thing the whumpee knew, they were waking up more cozy than what would've been possible. They opened their less bruised eye to a ceiling, pale grey winter light shining through the window. They feel warmer than what they had imagined, soft pillows nestled against their head, they wearily blinked, groaning as the pain caused by their injuries sparked like a damaged wire plugged in to a socket. They slowly sat up, wincing at the soreness. They looked down, seeing bandages wrapped around their ribs and chest, as well as their arms and thigh. They soon felt someone put their hand on them and lay them back on the bed.

"Not now, son, you're still injured." The caretaker said.

The whumpee obliged; laying down, still exhausted from the whole ordeal, the whumpee rested once more, knowing that they were safe......

[gingerly-writing]

Prompt #3375

“Look,” the villain attempted, “I know I’m not the kind of person you want right now. I’m definitely not the kind of person you need right now. But I’m here, alright? I’m here, and I want to help, so just...let me help, hero. Please.”

[the-baby-storyteller]

Whumpees and caretakers with estranged/rocky past relationships.

Whumpee used to know Caretaker, but now they’re like strangers. Maybe they broke up years ago or became estranged, family or otherwise. What matters is it ended, and it ended badly. Each swore they wanted nothing to do with the other, and they would never talk, never see them again, and years pass.

But then one day Caretaker sees them. Or shall I say, Whumpee finds Caretaker. And they’re begging. They run up to Caretaker battered and bruised and Whumpee is clinging to their clothes, eyes shot to the heavens, muttering words of please please you have to help me please I can’t.

Caretaker’s first thought when they saw them was anger as the memories their face brought flooded in, then confusion when they took in their appearance. But now, it’s a stricken horror and what in the world happened and what is going on? Why does Whumpee look like this way, happened to them why are the begging me-

That same haughty person who left Caretaker or the family and gave them such strong looks of contempt is this…frail, shaking figure who looks like they’re on the edge of death? They haven’t associated in years, and memories of before still haunt Caretaker to this day, but right now all they can think is something is wrong with Whumpee, they’re hurt and came to me which is a big enough sign that something is wrong that I need to do something about it.

They fight through their shock and slowly gain enough sense to draw a hand down Whumpee’s back to try to appease them. They feel whumpee shudder and flinch and they wince in turn. Being around Whumpee makes them…uneasy.

“P-Please-.” They hear Whumpee desperately.

They look down, into Whumpee’s eyes, and can see their fear. They know Whumpee remembers everything that happened, the fights that went down, the things both of them said. They know that even as they cling here to Caretaker, they’re afraid that Caretaker will shake them off in disgust and let them go back to whoever did this to them. Caretaker knows.

But what Whumpee doesn’t understand is that there’s no way they’re going to turn them away when they looking like that.

(Especially not when whumpee is begging them and looking at them with those eyes that they remember so clearly and they can’t stand seeing them be hurt and whoever hurt them is going to pay-)

[i-write-whump]

When the whumpee feels absolutely terrible, but they have to travel. The whumpee leaning on the caretaker’s shoulder almost the entire time, not having the energy to sit up for that long on their own, and the caretaker half carrying them anytime they have to walk. The caretaker bringing the whumpee to the caretaker’s house, since they don't want to leave them alone, and immediately lowering them onto the couch, telling the whumpee to just hang in there for a few minutes while they get a couple things, and then the caretaker will get them into a proper bed. The whumpee trying to listen to them, but dozing off on the couch less than a minute later. The caretaker coming back to find them slumped against the arm of the couch, sound asleep. The caretaker considering just settling them in a more comfortable position on the couch, but ultimately deciding to just carry the whumpee to a proper bed. Them tucking the whumpee in, and the whumpee waking up the next morning with no idea how they got there, but feeling safe and cared for.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Febuwhump Day 29: Not Allowed To Die

Content warning: painful healing, temporary Whumpee death

The magic burned through them like lighting. Their body jerked with the feeling, spasming as once dead nerves were thrust back into new life. The feeling moved from their limbs inward, centering around a throbbing pain in their chest.

The magic focused on their heart. Whumpee felt phantom fingers circle their heart and press, forcing it to beat once more.

Whumpee’s mouth opened in a silent scream. They couldn’t breathe.

“Hurry, damnit!” There was a face above them. They were shouting, panic and exhaustion lacing their words. “I don’t–I can’t bring them back too many more times.” They felt hands digging into their shoulders, shaking.

“I’m trying!” Another voice, tense with concentration, responded.

The world smelled like burnt meat. Whumpee could see nothing but smoke in the sky, ash falling like snow. The forest was burning around them.

Through their tears, Whumpee saw a glow. Soft, warm, unlike the red of flames creeping in.

Glowing fingers dug themselves into the broken and bleeding hole in Whumpee’s chest, and Whumpee’s world went white with agony.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Someone was speaking again. Something wet dripped onto Whumpee’s face.

They could hear it. They could hear their bones snapping into place, feel burnt and dead flesh becoming raw and bloody. They could feel months worth of healing happening within seconds, concentrated and agonizing. It felt like their body was being torn apart all over again.

Whumpee felt their lungs, burnt beyond any natural means of repair, reform within their chest. They inhaled, shaking and desperate, and felt their lungs press into a pair of hands.

Whumpee screamed.

“Just a little longer, okay? You’re doing so good–,” the voice near their head spoke, voice trembling. Whumpee felt a hand brush against their cheek, wiping away tears.

Whumpee’s head lulled limply on their neck. They wheezed, and tasted nothing but ash and blood on their tongue.

“No Whumpee please! Just hold on–,”

The sound was fading, the world turning dark. The pain was becoming distant. Whumpee embraced it.

The world faded out, and Whumpee felt themselves die. Something grabbed them. Not their body, broken and laying dead on the forest floor. Something grabbed them, the soul that had finally separated from their flesh. It dragged them down, a vice-like grip dragging them back towards that inferno. Dragging them into that broken, burnt shell they’d just escaped. Bringing the pain closer. Whumpee couldn’t fight it.

Whumpee opened their eyes, body lurching, as magic willed their heart to beat once more.

“Please!” Whumpee sobbed. They just wanted it to stop.

“Just a bit more!” Those hands on their shoulders tightened, and Whumpee felt their magic tethering them to their body. “You’ll stabilize soon, you just need to hold on so they can heal you-!”

That healing, burning light returned to their chest. Whumpee didn’t have the energy to pull away. They could only scream as their body was rebuilt.

[whumpingandsmilinglikeanidiot]

Caretakers that go

um

you're sad, I don't

what should I do

what should I do oh god I'm terrible at comforting people but

hey uh

wanna have some candy??

oh no why are you crying

I'm sorry please don't cry

oh okay um you're welcome

do you want some more??

[oopsiwhumpeditagain]

whumpee who just wants a break. just 5 minutes away from whumper. or caretaker. sometimes being alone is all they need, but there's either someone hurting them or pestering them to make sure they're ok. they just want peace and alone time.