#whumpee afraid of caretaker

[distinctlywhumpthing]

This Time

(Unintentional 30)

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CW: BBU-adjacent (institutionalized slavery), brief references to past-beating, fear of noncon drugging. It's the boys' first time out in public together, we're being gentle, this is practically all fluff. Beta-read by @alittlewhump <3

When it’s seven o’clock and not a minute sooner, Leo says, “I’d feel better if you came with me.” He almost adds ‘this time’ and wonders if Aiden is also remembering the last time Leo left him alone while he ran into a store. 

Aiden’s eyes widen. “I…mmm…I…” He timidly raises a hand to the base of his throat, gaze falling as he does it. 

Leo tries not to read shame into his uncertainty. He clears his throat, wanting to sound as casual as possible. “I know. I looked it up and the law says you just need some form of identification on you. It doesn’t have to be…uh…” Nope, he can’t say it out loud. “But that’s really more if you’re on your own. If you’re accompanied…” 

He will also not be repeating the stipulation that in the absence of ‘wearable restraints’, anyone with a ‘plausible reason or concern’ may request that Leo ‘subdue’ Aiden or they are within their rights to do so themselves ‘by any means necessary’. Which unfortunately “explains” the bastards who tore him from the van that first night.

Leo runs a hand over his hair. “We’ll be in and out in five minutes, it’ll be fine.” 

Halfway to the door, Aiden loses his footing. Leo’s ready though, catching him with an arm threaded under his shoulders. 

“Mmm’sorry…” Aiden clutches Leo’s sleeve with his uninjured hand, leaning into him to steady himself. He doesn’t let go once he’s standing so Leo keeps an arm around him.

“No worries. It’s icy as hell and Converse aren’t exactly known for their traction.” They’re also not very warm so Leo ushers the wobbly kid on, making sure to steer him where there’s road salt or dry patches.

 They pause outside the door so he can pull Aiden’s hood off and make sure the scars on the back of his neck are covered by its fabric. “Hands out, right?” he reminds. Aiden nods. 

The last thing they need is some racist assistant manager on a power trip insisting on frisking him. Just the thought has Leo rethinking this whole stop. He’d never be able to stand aside and let that happen. The poor kid has already seen the worst at the hands of strangers; there’s no telling what reaction yet another pair might set off. Leo might be able to spare him the experience by outing him as a Companion but that isn’t exactly risk-free either. Leo doesn’t think he’d be able to make a passable demonstration of the “justice” he’d rain down later on his sticky-fingered Companion and even if he could, he’s pretty sure Aiden wouldn’t be play-acting terrified. After what he already had to put the kid through tonight, he doesn’t want to risk anything else testing the fragile trust between them. 

Aiden shifts from one foot to the other. Leo’s hesitance is making him even more nervous. The parking lot is still empty and Delia’s car has real locks and an alarm he’d hear from inside. Maybe there’s no need to take any risk—

“What-what…if…mmm’I…mmm…” Aiden looks over his shoulder to where he just slipped, furrowing his brow. 

There’s no way Leo can bring him back to the car now, not without confirming that he doesn’t trust him to manage his own two feet either. Sure, he’s not very stable on ice but it’s been weeks since he tripped in the house. Regardless, it’s one hypothetical Leo would happily handle.  

“You’ll be fine, you can do this.” 

Aiden drops his gaze. Leo can’t tell if it’s because he’s shy about the encouragement or if he thinks it’s just empty words. 

“I’ve got your back, kiddo,” he says, straightening Aiden’s beanie that doesn’t need straightening. “I’ll catch you if you trip again.” 

Aiden meets his eyes and only searches them for a second before nodding. 

Any remaining apprehension on Aiden’s part is eclipsed by a quiet overwhelm once they step through the door. His eyes widen and he looks even smaller surrounded by the full shelves, under fluorescent lights. He follows Leo closely, practically brushing against his side as though they’re jostling through a crowd and might get separated even though there’s no one else in sight. 

Leo steers his mind away from wondering too much about the last time Aiden was in a store. 

They walk along the even-brighter cosmetic aisle toward the prescription counter at the back. Aiden looks away from the little mirrors framed by bright red, pink, and coral lipsticks. His eyes trace the bottles on the other side instead, shampoos in colorful plastic, hairsprays in metallic spray cans, and gels in an array of containers all lined up in rows. He keeps his arms perfectly straight and pinned to his sides but his fingers twitch there. Like maybe he wants to touch something but he thinks he’s not allowed to. 

Leo pauses by the shower gel, earning a concerned if not startled stare from Aiden. “Easy, all good. Why don’t we pick one you like?” 

Aiden looks at him like he just suggested flying to Mars. 

Leo picks up the brightest red bottle, flips the cap open and sniffs. Nothing special, just a generic soap smell. He holds it out for Aiden who, slowly, eyes flicking up to Leo’s three times before he leans forward all the way, inhales too. 

“Anything?” 

He shrugs noncommittally, nervous now that Leo’s put him on the spot but Leo wants this to be light and fun, though that might be a leap. He goes for one that says ‘coconut-something island bliss’ in a yellow bottle. Smells nice enough. Aiden leans in a bit easier this time and, though barely discernible, wrinkles his nose. 

“I think not,” Leo offers. 

Aiden shakes his head. 

“Go on, pick another one.” 

He bites his lip and raises his good hand. Hesitates a few times as he scans the shelf before pausing in front of a teal bottle. His fingertips rub together absently as his gaze slides over to Leo, who gives him a reassuring nod. He carefully picks it up. Luckily, this one only needs to be pressed down to be opened and he gets it right away. He holds it out to Leo first—something floral this time—just shrugging once he smells it himself. 

But now he’s into it. 

Leo pulls a pink bottle off the shelf as Aiden chooses purple. Their arms cross in the air when they hold them out to each other and Aiden’s lips almost twitch into a smile. Leo wants to beam but he forces himself to play it cool. 

Aiden replaces his bottle and picks another red, ‘blood-orange orchid blossom’. It smells only of citrus because last time Leo checked, orchids don’t smell like anything so why even call it that except to fool people into paying more for something just because it sounds fancy?  

A black Axe bottle Leo is relieved Aiden also hates, Irish Spring, a classic Dove. Aiden only has trouble with one of the tops. Leo worries it’ll kill the moment but Aiden just passes it to him and finds another bottle. 

After a few more, Aiden goes back for the purple, or actually, ‘lavender fields in summer’, pulling it off the shelf again with about as much confidence as if he were playing Russian roulette. 

“Nice, good job.” 

Aiden huffs and tucks his chin against his chest, hiding a small smile that might just be relief but Leo hopes is something more. They feel different, this smile and the one in the car. Leo can’t put his finger on how they’re different but he finds himself willing to do just about anything to see one again. 

He has another internal debate about whether or not Aiden should be next to him at the prescription counter. In the end, he decides it can only help his case later if a neutral third party explains the medications to them both. 

The pharmacist is young and way too energetic for seven in the morning. Leo makes zero effort to match the vibe. He slides his license across the counter. “Hi, I’m here to pick up some prescriptions, please. Marshall.” 

“Marshall, Marshall, Marshall,” she repeats as she searches the system. “Leo?” she asks like it’s not on the license she’s holding. 

“Yep.” She passes it back and disappears behind the shelves. 

Aiden’s still as stone beside him. Leo smiles reassuringly but it’s no match for the basket of prescription bottles the pharmacist returns with. He should have read Noah’s notes to know exactly what they were getting into. 

A two-week course of—thankfully—liquid amoxicillin. High-dose naproxen for pain as needed. A refill of his paroxetine thanks to Delia. She’s good. He definitely would have skipped it to reduce the sheer volume of pills he would be picking up with Aiden. At least the pharmacist skips the instructions because she can see it’s a refill of a medication he’s been taking for years. 

The last is the worst. Alprazolam with an over-the-top warning that it “causes extreme drowsiness” and “do not operate heavy machinery”. Finally, the real nail in the coffin: “it’s a potent tranquilizer.” Five doses, no refills. He definitely should have read Noah’s notes first. 

Leo rushes to end the exchange and move on to damage control. He grabs a basket from the stack, sweeps the medications in, and resists the urge to rush Aiden out of the whole damn store. He walks them to the far right, along the cold cases of sodas and drinks and freezers filled with ice cream, bags of ice, and a smattering of frozen dinners, mostly for one. The opposite side of the aisle is lined with chips but Aiden’s eyes are glued to the pile of white paper bags in the red plastic basket. 

Christ, where to start? 

“Aiden, can you look at me?” He does, of course. Eyes shining and full of betrayal. “Hon, I know you heard some things back there—” 

“...good…” 

“What?” 

Aiden swallows, wets his lips. He’s clutching the bottle of body wash like it’s keeping him upright. “I-I-I’ll…be…mmm…good.” His eyes flick to the basket and back to Leo’s, pleading. 

“Of course you will. You are good. You’re always good, I know that.” 

No dice. Leo’s reassurances mean nothing, not with what he’s holding. He drops the basket behind him, an arm’s length away. The gesture is met with open suspicion. 

“Hon, the only thing in there that you have to take are the antibiotics. To fight off the infection in your hand. The liquid one Delia talked about, right?” 

He nods once but his eyes narrow. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Delia and Noah only wrote the other prescriptions to give you options. The pain killers, the anxiety pills, they’re only if you want them.” 

Aiden’s expression crumples and he shakes his head. Distressed by the suggestion that he would ever choose to take anything? Or can he only see the whole thing as a trick, a mockery of his agency or lack thereof? 

Leo’s heart aches for him. There’s nothing he can say that will erase all of that history or make it any easier to carry. “Okay, okay. I know this is overwhelming but I wanted you to hear it for yourself. I mean, from someone other than me. That way when you… If you… You can decide…” Aiden looks at him miserably, eyes still burning with betrayal. Leo’s only digging himself deeper. “One of the prescriptions is for me anyway,” he flounders. “Let’s just—” He reaches for Aiden’s shoulder but he steps back, out of reach. 

For a moment they just stare at each other. 

Aiden takes another step back and his eyes widen, surprised to find himself where he’s just stepped. Surprised Leo hasn’t grabbed him yet. His gaze slides from Leo’s face to a point over his shoulder and Leo’s heart sinks. 

The door? Would he run? Aiden takes a step forward, eyes still locked over Leo’s shoulder. 

“Wait—” Leo can’t handle the thought of losing this kid for the third time tonight. His eyes film over with tears. “Ple—”

Instead of walking around him, Aiden steps right into his arms. 

And then the sound hits his ears and Leo turns, shuffling Aiden behind his back for the shelter he was seeking. He wasn’t trying to run, he heard people coming in. He leans into Leo’s back, free hand gripping a fistful of Leo’s jacket so tightly Leo can feel how hard he’s shaking. They don’t have much of a height difference but he’s ducked his head to try to hide better, Leo can feel his cheek against his shoulder blade. 

It’s no wonder why—though Leo is impressed by his hearing—the guys are similar enough to the group that beat the shit out of him that first day. They laugh and banter their way to the first case in the aisle like this is just one stop in a fun night that’s still going. They pull out a six-pack of Red Bull and head to the registers without so much as a glance Leo’s way. 

He doesn’t move until Aiden does and Aiden waits until they’ve picked out a scratch-off and multiple vape flavors, joking with the cashier. Leo doesn’t bother keeping the judgment off his face with Aiden tucked behind his back. They stay, frozen like that until the pair amble out of the store. 

Aiden straightens, releasing Leo’s coat as soon as the first set of automatic doors slides shut. Leo turns to find him staring ahead unseeing, bottle in one hand and the other still closed into a tight fist. 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Leo keeps his voice a whisper, all too aware they’re still in public. “It’s all right, they’re gone.” 

Aiden nods but only reflexively. He squeezes his eyes shut once, twice, blinking away more tears each time he opens them. His fist trembles between them, arm still locked where it was holding Leo’s coat. 

Leo’s nervous to touch the poor kid considering the mental whiplash he must have—thinking Leo might drug him against his will only to be forced to depend on him for some semblance of safety—but if Aiden’s clenching his fist as tight as it looks, he’s putting too much strain on his stitches. 

“Can I give you a hand?” Leo holds his out, palm up. 

A few days ago, he’d spent a whole bathroom re-tile brainstorming a phrase to use during these moments when he didn’t know where to begin. Something neutral, not explicitly offering help but still open-ended enough that Aiden might get what he needed.  

Without even looking, Aiden drops his hand into Leo’s, uncurling his shaking fingers to grip him tightly. Leo’s momentarily dumbstruck that it worked. Has to be a fluke. 

“You’re doing great. We’re almost done.” He wraps his other arm around Aiden who shudders, finally exhaling. Leo wishes he could just hold him properly, until he stopped shaking, until he felt safe, no matter how long it took. “I just need to grab a few more things and then we’re outta here.” He gives Aiden one last squeeze before releasing him. 

The list from Noah is actually in his sister’s handwriting, first the prescriptions with more specific instructions and then a bunch of other things. Before he attaches himself to that fucking depository of pills again, he grabs a bag of pretzels and another of popcorn off the shelf to add to the basket. It’s an obvious move but at least now the prescription bags aren’t staring at them.

“Sterile gauze and bandages,” he tells Aiden, who nods stiffly, falling in to shadow him as he weaves through the store. He could move faster but he can’t risk anything else going wrong just now. 

Aiden doesn’t react to anything else Leo adds to the basket. As much as Leo wants to involve him, give him some choice or context, he can see the kid is dead on his feet. He is too, has been all night. 

Clothing basics happen to be at the end of the last aisle on their way to the registers. Leo wonders how bad is it to get some for Aiden now. Probably not as bad as it was to let him go this long constantly borrowing Leo’s. A pack of t-shirts, a pack of boxers, a pack of socks. Black for sure to avoid his tendency to flat-out panic about stains. Evidently, even this strip mall CVS is influenced by the pretentiousness of the surrounding area: there’s a choice of organic cotton that costs about forty percent more. Leo wonders if that means he can permit himself to feel forty percent less shitty for not getting Aiden even one thing to call his own sooner. 

He’s not sure what to expect when they get to the register. The woman in her mid-forties has hoops in her ears and acrylic French tips tapping on the side of her lime green phone case. She unabashedly continues scrolling, even after Leo says hello until he finishes unloading the basket. 

“Morning,” she says offhandedly as she starts scanning and bagging. 

When Leo leans away stack away the empty basket, Aiden steps forward to soundlessly place the bottle of body wash on the counter. 

“And good morning to you too, darlin’,” the cashier says, winking theatrically. 

Leo is about to step in front of him, make some remark about the weather to pull focus, but Aiden flashes her a smile that is as dazzling as it is vacant. Leo finds it unsettling but the cashier laughs, joking about how Aiden should look her up when he’s ten years older. Leo forces a chuckle as he pays, shoving the receipt in his coat and telling her to have a nice day while he grabs the bags off the counter. 

She returns the pleasantries and waves at Aiden. Leo’s jaw almost hits the floor when Aiden wiggles his fingers back as they walk away. 

Outside, Leo shifts all the bags to one side, turning to offer Aiden his other arm. 

He holds on right away, glancing around nervously like he's a deer about to step into an open field. He can’t seem to decide if he should watch his footing or surroundings. The street lights cast harsh angles on his face, hollowing his cheeks and throat, deepening the weariness under his eyes. 

Night and day from the mask of a smile he’d pulled on inside and haunting in an entirely different way. Leo is struck again by how little he knows about Aiden, how much he may never know, and the fact that if he’s going to do right by him, he’ll have to be ready for it all.

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@octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @whumpy-writings @cracked-porcelain-princess

@meetmeinhellcroutons @briars7 @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @neuro-whump

@painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch @skyhawkwolf @haro-whumps @onlybadendings

@peachy-panic @fillthedarkvoid @rabass @crystalquartzwhump @dont-touch-my-soup

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @guachipongo @creetchure @leyswhumpdump

@aseasonwithclarasblog @catawhumpus @magziemakeswhatever @espresso-depresso-system @pigeonwhumps 

@batfacedliar-yetagain @whumpinthepot @dustypinetree @whump-in-progress @pirefyrelight

[chiharuuu22]

What about Whumpee, who only believes in Caretaker?

Whumpee, who was restless in a semi-conscious state, only calmed down after being touched or caressed by Caretaker.

A frightened Whumpee becomes a little braver after Caretaker reassures him.

Whumpee who didn't struggle when Caretaker changed his bandage, even though when the others tried to do it, Whumpee preferred not to change his bandage.

Whumpee is willing to take his own medicine if it is given by the Caretaker herself, even though if someone else gives it to him, Whumpee will refuse or will only take it if the Caretaker is there.

Whumpee will hobble around looking for the Caretaker if, within a certain time, Caretaker doesn't appear in front of him.

Whumpee would wake up suddenly if Caretaker wasn't by his side.

Whumpee won't sit still if he doesn't see Caretaker around.

Whumpee knows that the food he consumes is not made by Caretaker, even though the ingredients and method of making it are the same.

Whumpee only wants to tell Caretaker everything he experienced.

Whumpee continues to follow Caretaker wherever Caretaker goes, maybe even sitting and waiting in front of the bathroom while Caretaker showers.

Whumpee is willing to do anything to never be separated from Caretaker again.

Maybe Whumpee will cry for Caretaker when he wakes up and finds that Caretaker is not beside him, even though the other members are there looking after him.

Instead of feeling troubled by Whumpee's attitude, which changed like a child who was afraid of losing his mother, Caretaker instead wondered. Was it because when he was rescued, Caretaker was the first person Whumpee saw? Or because Whumpee just felt the tenderness given by other people and didn't realize it all this time? Or because Whumpee's subconscious told him he was safe now? Or has Whumpee really trusted Caretaker all this time and Caretaker doesn't know about it?

Caretaker doesn't know; only Whumpee knows the answer, and Caretaker doesn't want to ask either.

(Anything do you want to add?)

[triforce-of-mischief]

Trypanophobic Whumpee ✨

Whumpees who hide their wounds to avoid medical attention, out of fear rather than pride.

Whumpees who scream and sob and plead when Caretaker brings them to the medic/doctor/hospital.

Whumpees who are too quiet and submissive, terrified to act out.

Whumpees who are jumpy and completely snap at the first sudden move.

Whumpees who lock themselves in the bathroom to delay the inevitable.

Whumpees who want to be sedated but not with a syringe/IV, anything but that.

Whumpees who can't stop reliving the trauma of being physically restrained in the past.

Whumpees who try to flinch back, to run away, and find themselves in Caretaker's gentle but unyielding embrace.

Whumpees whose hands shoot out in self-defense only to be grabbed and held by Caretaker.

Whumpees who have to tell Caretaker, voice hushed, about their phobias, and watch the horror and sympathy spread over Caretaker's face.

Whumpees who only trust Caretaker to get anywhere near them, even if Caretaker is holding a needle, not knowing why they feel safe when they should feel scared.

****

Caretakers who can't decide if it's better to tell Whumpee where they're taking them or if it would be a mercy to keep the secret just a little longer.

Caretakers who know about Whumpee's phobias and feel the crushing guilt as they force Whumpee to live through their greatest fears for their own good.

Caretakers who don't know what's worse, the utter betrayal in Whumpee's eyes or the resignation once they stop fighting.

Caretakers who have to tell Whumpee to Don't look over there, eyes on me, you'll make it worse for yourself if you look.

Caretakers who know if they should stay quiet, tell Whumpee what's happening, soothe and distract with words, show them how to breathe deep and steady.

Caretakers who scream just as loudly as Whumpee when the medics/nurses have to hold Caretaker back from fighting the ones who are holding Whumpee down because Caretaker knows it's wrong.

Caretakers who apologize and praise Whumpee, even- especially- when Whumpee knows they were not brave, but they got through it anyway.

****

Please reblog if you like these, and tag me if you use them or have any recs that use them! I would love to read! 💜

[pardonmekreature]

Caretakers who are secretly monstrous or op in someway

I mean, whumpee had always noticed something odd about them. Whether it be their eyes don't look quite human, or how their movements are just a little too quick. But whumpee has always just brushed aside as just weird quirks. Nothing to get suspicious about

Untill they get kidnapped, blindfolded, and dragged off somewhere. Seemly helpless untill the sounds of chaos, screams, and snapping bones surround them. And the only thing left is the sound of caretakers soothing voice.

Caretaker unties them and takes off everything but the blindfold. Because, well, "Maybe it's better if I keep it on"

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

WRITING PROMPTS REGARDING ABORTION AND MISCARRIAGE 

trigger warnings for graphic description of the above topics, human trafficking, cannibalism, violence against pregnant women.

everything about this is entirely fictional, meant for writers. since I understand there aren’t many whump blogs that feel comfortable writing prompts about the subject (very understandable), I figured I could offer writers out there some prompts about this, in case they were looking for ideas for their works.

that being said, while the prompts are not real, the subject is very much real and can be triggering, so if it’s not something you’re comfortable with, don’t read below the line.

__________________୨ ୧ __________________

*feel free to change/adjust the pronouns however you want

a pregnant whumpee got kicked in the stomach by whumper, which led to miscarriage.

a pregnant whumpee, who was a housewife, fell down the stairs at her house when her partner was away for work. she didn’t tell her partner about the incident either because she was afraid he was going to get mad at her or because she thought it was fine and didn’t want to worry him. until she suffered severe bleeding that turned the mattress red at night.

whumpee who went through miscarriage kept hallucinating a life where her child was alive and she got to raise them. caretaker tried to help her, and even though her condition only seemed to get worse, they refused to send her to an asylum. 

whumpee who lost her child during childbirth refused to surrender her child’s corpse. It was understandable at first, until the child started to decompose and rot in her arms and she, with a knife in her hand, would attack anyone who tried to take her baby away from her.

whumpee was a sex slave who got pregnant, the thing was that it was a mistake. so in order for her to be able to continue doing ‘her job’, whumper made her undergo unsafe abortion by having a straightened-out wire with sharp edge (from a coat hanger) inserted into her vagina and into her uterus. they got the fetus out, but whumpee later got a nasty infection that resulted in her suffering from hallucinations, and her not being able to stand or stop her pale, naked body from shivering. whether or not she was rescued in time is up to you, the writer. 

whumper is an OB doctor who often lied to the patients that they miscarried their perfectly healthy stillborns and that the babies needed to be surgically removed in order to save the moms’ lives. this made it very easy for the doc to get away with eating fetuses, since the moms would rather not keep the corpses of their stillborns anyway, and police were never involved. (I mean who would question a licensed physician?!)

[the-bar-sinister]

No peaceful sleep for whumpee.

Captive whumpee who isn’t given a place to sleep.

Captive whumpee who is kept bound in an uncomfortable day and night, with no way to lay down.

Captive whumpee who is forced to sleep on a cold, hard floor.

Captive whumpee who is woken up every hour by whumper.

Captive whumpee whose whumper comes in to torment them while they’re sleeping.

Captive whumpee whose whumper blasts noise so they can’t sleep properly.

Captive whumpee who is sprayed with water whenever they fall asleep.

Captive whumpee who is allowed to sleep, but only when they fulfill whumper’s terms.

Captive whumpee who is allowed to sleep but only while whumper is with them or only in whumper’s bed.

Recovering whumpee who can’t sleep without horrible nightmares that wake them up with a racing heart.

Recovering whumpee whose caretaker always sees them whimpering and tossing and turning as they sleep, muttering ‘no’ and ‘please’ in between sharp breaths.

Recovering whumpee who is afraid to go to sleep due to the fear that something will happen to them while they’re not alert.

[whumpy-galaxy]

Listen I am a SUCKER for conditioned whumpees. Specifically the unconditioning that comes after rescue.

Whumpee being afraid of Caretaker.

Whumpee having to wear a collar and a muzzle because that’s how Whumper kept them.

Whumpee panicking when they mess up or drop something, waiting for Caretaker to get upset and beat them.

Whumpee who won’t eat unless Caretaker orders them to.

Whumpee who doesn’t know what to do if they’re not being dragged around on a chain.

Whumpee who’s afraid of windows and the outdoors because Whumper convinced them everyone and everything outside wanted to hurt them, and they were safer with Whumper.

And everything that comes with that.

Caretaker not knowing what to do and feeling worthless. (Bonus points if they even consider mercy killing Whumpee because maybe they’ll always be afraid of everything and there’s nothing they can do).

Caretaker thinking maybe they DID do something to hurt Whumpee.

Caretaker being upset every time they look at Whumpee because they still insist on wearing the collar and muzzle Whumper bought for them, and Caretaker never wants to see them like that.

But also the good things that come with it!

Caretaker getting a new collar and muzzle made, with padding and lots of extra space for Whumpee to wear while they recover.

Whumpee finally being able to do something without asking Caretaker first, and Caretaker being so proud of them.

Caretaker’s praise and excitement at this makes Whumpee feel proud, too.

I just. I love it so much.

[jordanstrophe]

Abandoned whumpee

CW: Whumper turned caretaker, injured whumpee, defiant, restrained, angst

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Whumpee awoke in their enemies infirmary.

An IV was pricking their arm and the lights were dimmed. They twitched as their wrist ached from the handcuff binding them to the bed.

"You're awake? I was getting worried about you." Whumper hummed, sitting by their bedside with a large cup of coffee. Whumpee shakily rose their hand as the handcuff clinked.

"This isn't necessary." Whumpee tiredly mumbled.

"My my, you've been awake for ten seconds and already making demands." Whumper chuckled. "But I'm afraid we're not on that level of trust yet, I can get you something for the bruise."

Whumpee tried to sit up, everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. 

"I'm a w-wounded prisoner. It's not like I know my w-way around here-" Their voice hitched as their arm gave in as they collapsed. Whumper was quick to pull them up and put a pillow behind their back.

"Easy now, you're still healing. -And don't downgrade yourself, you could still pack a punch, I know how you were trained." Whumper scolded, fixing the blanket around them.

"How could you possibly know that." Whumpee squinted. Whumper ignored their question and waved someone over; they were handed something whumpee couldn't see from the bed. Whumper moved towards them whumpee tried to scamper as far as the handcuff could go.

"Hey! Hey, calm down. It's not going to hurt you." Whumper lulled, placing a plate with a full meal on their lap. "Look, it's just a peace offering."

Whumpee's face flushed with a hint of pink as they lowered their shoulders. Hospitality was the least they expected from their enemy's leader. "You're feeding me?" Whumpee tilted their head.

"Of course I'm feeding you. I saved your life, I'm not going to waste it all by starving you. Gracious, eat your dinner." Whumper scoffed. 

"This is dinner? How long did you sedate me?" Whumpee suddenly perked up.

"I didn't sedate you, you were exhausted. That's just how long you slept. Now eat, you'll feel better." They nudged, taking their wrist and putting a plastic fork in whumpee's hand.

"If I didn't know any better," Whumper chuckled, "I would guess your beloved team wasn't feeding you either-"

Whumper felt movement and grabbed whumpee's arm before they attempted to plummet the fork into whumper's neck. They glared at each other as Whumpee was panting and pouring with sweat.

"Sweetheart, that is a plastic fork you're holding." Whumper glared.

"I know. But it's got three sh-sharp points and that's good enough f-for me." Whumpee grunted, still attempting to stab them. Whumper grabbed their collar and yanked them mere inches away. Whumpee pushed and tried to back-peddle as whumper held their collar.

"That was a cute try." Whumper whispered in their ear. "But you don't have the strength to fight just yet, little lamb. Should have eaten first." They plucked the fork out of Whumpee's hand and released them. Whumpee fell back and winced, holding their wound as it pulsed. They could feel the stitches underneath their shirt, staying intact at least...

"You honestly can't believe you'll keep me here like this! I don't want to be here- I'm not your pet to tease!" Whumpee shouted at them.

"You're not my pet. If you want to be that way, then sure; you're like a lamb running for the cliffs that I have to keep pulling you away from." Whumper straightened their jacket and rubbed their neck.

"You're only keeping me alive so you can torture me later, I've told you from the start I won't ever give up my team-"

"-No." Whumper cut them off.

Whumpee suddenly quieted and closed their lips. "... What do you mean no?" They quietly asked.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, your head is so full of lies it sickens me to know what they've taught you! You want to know why I stayed by your side all day? You woke up throughout the night and cried yourself right back to sleep!"

"I wasn't crying!" Whumpee sobbed, covering their face and fell silent. Whumper shut their mouth and leaned back, realizing they had corned them. "I'm sorry. I uh ... I'll give you some space. I'll come check on you later." Whumper quickly stood. They craned their head back to see whumpee was now curled on their side facing away from them.

Whumpee flinched when they heard a "clink" as the handcuff fell off their wrist. It was a feeling of pure light and relief. It was a surprising gesture, even for the stunt they pulled with the now-revoked plastic fork.

This wasn't the ruthless enemy whumpee was expecting; whumper speaks as if they know more about their own team than whumpee does. If they got trusted enough to freely walk around, they would get to find their own answers deep in the core of their enemies base. 

 Perhaps this was an opportunity.

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@parasitebunny @starzabove @frog-hat-fa-ggot @morning-star-whump @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @mommymarichatfurever​  @isita-torrrres @tobiaslut

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim #56: Else

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: recovery and lots of it, angst, sickfic, accidental emotional whump, fear of starvation, vampire whumpee, whumper turned whumpee (turned caretaker), reunions

Whumpmas in July Day 18: "Or else"

i'm sorry for being so slow with k&j chapters! i'm going to try to be quicker with them in the future. here's one people have been waiting for for a very long time!

-

“You’re sick.”

Jim blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“You’re sick,” Kane repeated, taking another sip from the bowl. One of his last bowls before he was to start finding his own elsewhere. “I can taste it.”

“What? What kind of sick? Is it serious?” Jim asked with increasing urgency. Kane could see it in his eyes: he knew fear, and he hated to see it in Jim.

He wanted more than anything to reassure him, but he couldn’t lie. “I-I don’t know?” he admitted. “I don’t know much of human illnesses. You seem… fine?”

“Shit. Shit shit shit.” Jim grabbed his coat. “I’ll be back soon. I gotta… go to the doctor, or something. Door,” he warned.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you’ll be okay! You can’t even feel it! You’re a healthy young man!” Kane assured him, ducking into the kitchen.

“Thanks for warning me!” Jim’s voice was laden with nerves. A flash of sunlight made Kane shiver, and he only returned to the living room when it was gone.

Kane knew what this meant: Jim would likely not finish out the week. This was his last meal given. He would have to go to vampire territory tonight, or else he would have nothing to eat come tomorrow. He had to find blood tonight, or else he’d starve. He’d go back to that horrible, empty state, always wanting, always in pain.

He knew Jim wouldn’t really let that happen, but it wasn’t fair to rely on him for blood forever, either. Kane had taken enough, with and without permission. It was Jim’s turn to rest.

Still, the fear of hunger never left him. It was a part of him now, permanently, no matter how much he fed.

And this meant one thing. The thing he’d been putting off and dreading since Jim set him free.

He would have to go to vampire territory and talk to his parents. He knew already that it would not go over well. Father would be either furious or crushingly disappointed that he’d allowed himself to be humiliated by humans, and he wasn’t sure which was worse. Mother would undoubtedly be the latter. He wondered, not for the first time, if they preferred him ‘dead’.

It shouldn’t matter. He knew now that they weren’t… good people. He could see that. He had a new family of sorts, now that Jim had taken him in.

But Jim wasn’t his legal next of kin, and Jim wasn’t the one he had to ask if he wanted his money returned so he could buy blood.

He could always get a job. But it seemed ridiculous to do when he had money sitting right there, and he would likely be found by his parents at some point anyway. There was no avoiding it forever.

Kane drank the bowl down quickly.

-

It was a flu, apparently. Nothing life-threatening, but it set Jim’s anxieties alight. His parents had died of illness, he explained.

While Kane had managed to catch it early, Jim started to devolve within a few hours of arriving home.

Kane knocked on his bedroom door. “Jim? Can I come in?”

“Ugh. Yeah,” he agreed.

Carefully balancing the tray, he entered. He found Jim curled up in bed, looking miserable.

“I’ve brought you lunch.” He’d been practicing his human food skills. He was still quite afraid of the stove, so though he used it when feeling especially brave, he mainly stuck to things that didn’t require cooking. He’d written down several combinations of foods that humans found appetizing, which could often be served in between slices of bread as a ‘sandwich’.

But he needed a tray instead of a plate, because despite his strength, he simply didn’t have enough hands to carry the six cups of water circled around it.

“Lotta water,” Jim noted weakly, grabbing a glass and taking a sip when Kane brought it close. His hand shook, the liquid threatening to spill. Kane watched it close, ready to steady it in a heartbeat if Jim needed him to.

He spoke gently, like he was worried speaking too loud would break Jim in his fragile state. “...Like I’d mentioned, I don’t know much about human illness. Most of what I know comes from you. I just remember… you wanted a lot of water, last time.”

He thought about that time a lot. How he was so close to losing Jim, because he was too proud to listen.

“Ah. Yeah.” Jim wouldn’t look him in the eye. “I remember.”

Kane set the tray down. “I should have taken better care of you,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I mean–I shouldn’t have had you in the first place, but I did, and you were my responsibility, and I didn’t care for you like I should have.” A hint of tears in his eyes, he took Jim’s unusually-sweaty hand. “I’ll do better this time. Anything you need, I’ll be there.”

That earned a small smile from Jim. “Guess it isn’t so bad being waited on. ‘Specially because you can’t get sick, right?” The smile faded. “…Right?”

“I can’t,” Kane assured him. “You don’t need to worry. Just rest, and I’ll take care of anything you need.”

Jim huffed an almost-laugh. “You really changed, man.”

-

Liz did come over to visit come nightfall, which was good, since despite his promises, Kane had to leave. He didn’t like the thought of leaving Jim alone at night. He knew it made him scared, and Jim deserved to never feel afraid ever again. She brought a container of soup, a yellow liquid with colorful plants and large white orbs floating in it.

He waited, patient, until Liz emerged from Jim’s room. “Liz?”

“Hey. Thanks for looking after him,” Liz said.

“Of course!” The praise spread warmly through him. “There’s, um, something I wanted to talk to you about, if you have the time? Advice, I suppose.”

“Shoot,” she encouraged, flopping over on the couch.

Kane took a deep breath. “So, um, I assume now is a good time to start getting my own blood.”

“Yyyyeah.” Liz shot a glance to the stairs leading to Jim’s room. “I’d say that’s about right.”

“Blood… isn’t free. I have the money–had the money, but I’ve likely been assumed dead for many years. I’ll need to go to my parents to get it back,” he explained. “My parents are not kind people, I’ve come to realize.”

Liz raised an eyebrow, but politely refrained from making any comments about his former obliviousness. “You think they won’t give it back? Isn’t there, like, laws? This can’t be the first time this has happened with vampires, you guys are too good at not dying.”

“No! No, that’s not it, they’d give it back. It’s just, um, they’ll be… quite upset with me, I think. Especially my father.” He sighed. “I didn’t want to talk about it with Jim. I was worried he would feel pressured into giving me more blood than he’s comfortable with. I don’t know. It shouldn’t be as big a deal as it is. I’ve been through so much worse, I don’t understand why this is so terrifying. I suppose I’ve just never failed this badly before.”

“Hey, you made it out of five years with those monsters, alive. Bet there’s not a lot of vampires who could say that,” Liz pointed out.

“Ah, that’s just… not how Father would see it,” Kane said vaguely. Humans were supposed to be the weak ones. The fact that it took him five years to be freed, and he couldn’t even do it himself, would make him an utter embarrassment in their eyes.

And it was all because he couldn’t use persuasion. Everything they’d always believed about him, proven true.

Liz pursed her lips, lost in thought for a moment. “I don’t remember my parents that well,” she admitted. “I know yours suck pretty bad. I don’t think you have to admit more than you need to, right? Like, do they even need to know where you’ve really been? You could just make something up, for the sake of keeping the peace.”

“Make something up…” Kane murmured. He shook his head. “I’m not a very good liar. They’d see right through me. It’s fine, actually, the more I talk about it, the more I realize I’m being a bit ridiculous.” He forced a laugh. “It’s one uncomfortable conversation and then I can come back home.”

“You’ve got this.” Liz patted him lightly on the back, a modification from her usual clap she’d learned tended to scare him. “You’re tough.”

Kane certainly didn’t feel ‘tough’.

“Thank you. It was nice to at least… get it out of my system. Oh, and congratulations. Jim told me about you and Laken.”

Liz smiled. “After what happened, I just knew I had to say something, you know? If they could just be taken from me at any moment. Stuff happens. People die. I didn’t want something to happen to one of us before I could tell them how I feel.”

She stood. “I can give you one more night’s worth, maybe two. If you need some time to think about it and all.”

Kane startled. He and Liz had grown far more amicable over the past months, but he hadn’t expected this from her.

Maybe he should have. It wasn’t the first time. He thought of Jim, on that first night, vehemently denying Liz’s offer to provide blood, vowing to do it himself.

“...Thank you. That means so, so much to me. It’s alright, though. I’ll go tonight,” he decided.

“Good luck. We’ll be here when you get back,” she promised.

And that was all he really needed, in the end.

Kane got up, heading to the door with a quick glance back to make sure it was alright. For the freedom he’d earned, he hadn’t gone more than ten feet from the house since he’d returned with Laken. But of course, Liz made no move to stop him. “I’ll see you soon.”

-

The night was as beautiful as ever, even in the cool autumn air. He liked it better this way, in fact. It made it more comfortable to wear more clothing, the long pants and long sleeves and jacket he liked, especially when he ran. When he went this fast, he hardly felt the cold, and his mind was occupied elsewhere.

What if his parents made demands of him in exchange for their help? What if they expected him to return to vampire territory, to isolate himself out of the way in a socially-acceptable manner? Now that he’d tasted true companionship, he almost couldn’t bear to give it up. And what about Jim? Ever since Laken’s abduction, he’d been more scared at night. The very least Kane owed him was his protection.

His petty worries disappeared the instant he realized he could hear a vehicle coming closer.

Kane ran faster, opposite the sound. He’d likely been pushing fifty miles an hour before, and could make sixty if he tried–but he was out of practice, and the vehicle was faster.

A glance behind him showed moonlight glinting off a silver crossbow.

“I have permission!” he wailed as the off-roader gained, heart threatening to burst from his chest. This couldn’t happen, not again, no. Jim and Liz wouldn’t even think to look for him until a day had passed, a day that could easily be spent baking in the hot sun. “Liz Lieberman granted me permission to cross! Please, I didn’t do anything! Mercy!”

“Kane?” an unfamiliar voice called. The vehicle caught up to him, but there was no attack. “Oh shit, it’s you!” the driver said. “It’s so dark, I almost didn’t recognize you from the picture Laken showed us. Thanks for bringing ‘em back.”

Kane slowed, just a bit. “What?” he squeaked, tears streaming down his face.

The hunter in the passenger seat elbowed his partner, making quick movements with his hands that Kane could not understand. A signed language of some sort, he assumed. Though he didn’t know much about such things, other than that spoken orders under persuasion often didn’t work on humans who utilized it.

“Uh, my partner wants to know if you’re good? Like, you’re alright?” The driver asked. “Did we scare you? Sorry. Just, uh, you know, gotta be quick with the other guys. One second wasted and you miss ‘em, and that’s someone’s whole life, y’know.”

“Oh. Um, yes, you’d–you’d frightened me. I’m sorry.” Kane wasn’t quite sure what he was apologizing for. “Am I… free to go, sirs?”

“Yeah! Yeah, you can go… sir? Shoot, don’t let us keep you,” the hunter assured.

The one in the passenger seat made more hand-signs, waving him goodbye after. “Nice to meet you!” the other translated, finally driving away.

Kane picked up speed again and didn’t stop until he was sure he’d left the border far behind. He collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.

He was so close to going back to the pain. If they hadn’t recognized him, he would have been skewered with silver–likely soon killed, not tortured, given they were from Liz’s guild, but still, he would have died in pain. No matter how hard he breathed, he felt like he couldn’t get enough air, and he wasn’t sure if it was that he’d been sprinting for too long or the sheer horror.

He wanted Jim. He wanted Jim to hold him and tell him everything was alright, that he was safe, that no one was going to hurt him. But Jim was miles and miles away, and could not help him here.

And he couldn’t cry on the ground forever. He was burning moonlight, and he needed blood.

Kane forced himself to his feet and wrapped his arms around him. If he squeezed his eyes tight, he could pretend he wasn’t alone, for just a moment.

After a minute like that, he started running once more.

-

By the time Kane reached his parents’ estate, he’d mostly calmed down. It was hard to feel as though hunters would ambush him out of nowhere when he went deep enough into vampire territory to see buildings and people. Any hunter here would be apprehended in seconds.

He touched the gate, brass-coated, though he knew there was silver underneath. There seemed to be some sort of electronic device attached to it, a new addition since his last visit, but he wasn’t sure how to use it. He could climb it, or simply shout, and one of the staff would likely hear him. If he wanted to be extra polite, which he did, he could simply stand here until someone came or went and ask to be let in.

And then that would be it. Kane would be standing face-to-face with his parents. He would accept Father’s ire without complaint. He’d had worse, he reminded himself, even when it came to the comparable. The hunters had spit on him while calling him worthless, ground his face into the floor while forcing him to decry himself as beneath them. It had been so much worse.

His hand shook against the gate.

You’ve really changed, man.

Had he? If he was still back here, ready to take whatever judgments his parents threw at him, debase himself and eagerly beg for their forgiveness, had he really changed? There were humans in there. Captive, hurt humans who he could never in a thousand years be able to free if he tried, locked away in their quarters. What happened to all his regrets? His vows that he would never associate with anything of the sort again?

What would he have done differently here before, if he’d realized back then everything he knew now?

Kane left.

-

It took him a bit to find it, he hadn’t been to this town before, but it wasn’t far, and he knew the address.

There was a different kind of dread this time. If he was rejected here, it might be even worse than his parents. But as he rang the doorbell, he knew this was what he had to do.

The man who answered looked almost exactly the same as the last time he’d seen him, thirteen years ago. The same dark skin, perfect hair, typically garishly-colorful shirt.

Bellamy’s eyes went impossibly wide, as though he’d seen a ghost.

“Kane?”

taglist in reblogs, chapter 57 coming july 30th :)

@whumpmasinjuly

[distinctlywhumpthing]

In League — A Lucky Blunder, part III

Masterlist

Summary: (Continuing part I & part II) Wyatt has saved August from being tortured interrogated and taken him under his protection. He soon discovers something to be gained from his gang's blundered revenge pursuit, though not what he would have expected. Beta read by @alittlewhump!

CW: Late-19th century, explicit language, kidnapping/abduction, murder (by drowning) mentioned, dehumanization/classism, indentured servitude, skewed power dynamics, carewhumper/sympathetic whumper, fearful August running his mouth.

“Tea?” Wyatt refilled his own cup from the still-warm pot and passed it to August. He had no sooner let go than he had to catch the other boy’s shaking hands to help keep the cup upright. August turned crimson, fighting shy of eye contact while he huffed through his nose, trying to steady his hands. 

Finally, he tipped his head in a nod for Wyatt to release him. He kept his gaze fixed on the tea as he brought it to his lips. His knuckles were raw, fingernails dirty and chewed to the quick. He took paltry sips of the tea as if at any moment he might return to find it boiling. Or perhaps he expected to have it slapped away. 

Wyatt needed a cigarette. He moved slowly so his intentions were plain as he crossed the room to use the matches by the bedside instead of those in his pocket. He was keenly aware of August watching his every action out of the corner of his eye, no more relaxed with his would-be captor out of arm’s reach. Wyatt stayed away nonetheless while he smoked, letting his eyes trace the faded wallpaper as if it held his interest. It was starting to peel again in one corner. The previous owners had done a poor job laying it but it was better than the whole room being greying white-wash. 

He left the second half of the cigarette to burn out in the ashtray on the desk when he returned to his chair by the fire. August thanked him again when he relieved him of the empty cup and waited until Wyatt had sat back in his chair before he did the same, wincing as he did.

“How old are you?” 

“Eighteen.” He ran two fingertips along his brow, pushing his hair to one side. Some of the strands were still sweaty from the ordeal in the cellar. 

“Liar.” 

His eyes snapped back up to Wyatt’s, their earlier fire reignited. “And you?” 

“One and twenty,” Wyatt answered, unable to keep a smile from playing at his lips or his tone devoid of amusement. “Your turn again.”

August had gone red in the face, his boldness only a fleeting impulse. “Sixteen, sir.”

Now they both knew age had nothing to do with his continued use of honorifics. August plainly intended to employ any means that might gain him the slightest pardon. A habit when such subtleties typically weighed inequitably on one's survival.

“And you’re not guilty of the spying as they claim? You weren’t the one who ran and warned Keats?”

“No, sir.” 

Wyatt leaned forward and dropped a hand on August’s shoulder, earning an almost-imperceptible flinch. “Now, you wouldn’t dare tell a falsehood to the only one showing you kindness in this wolf’s den. Would you, little lamb?” 

The boy gulped, Adam’s apple bobbing. “N-no. No, sir. I swear,” he said, shaking his head. “I swear to the Almighty Lord. It was the other boy—he-he started before me.” He held Wyatt’s eyes, though he was clutching fistfuls of the bedcover in his lap.

Wyatt let him hold his breath for a heartbeat longer. “All right, I can see that you’re in earnest.” The boy relaxed a fraction and then another when Wyatt released his shoulder. “But you’ll have to come up with something better than that nonsense for future. It’s no wonder they didn’t believe you, going on all pious like that.”

He furrowed his brow and bit the side of his chapped lip. “I swear…on the grave of my dearly departed mother?”

Wyatt cocked a brow. “You’ve met your mother then?” 

“I must have, however briefly, to have been born.” 

“Cheeky. But it’ll do.” 

The boy flushed at the slight approval. 

You can catch more flies with honey than vinegar, Midge always used to say. Wyatt stifled a smirk. Maybe this case of mistaken identity would prove fruitful after all.  

“How did you wind up in this situation, mixed up with Keats?” 

“I-I was in the workhouse long as I can remember,” he said carefully, watching Wyatt’s reaction. He kept his face impassive; he'd already guessed as much. The boy carried himself like someone accustomed to being treated as less than a whole citizen. “When I was ten, I was sent to work in a household in the country as a boot boy and then as a hall boy. I was there four years. Could have been an apprentice footman if I’d stayed…” 

Many were so desperate to leave the harrowing conditions of the workhouses, they undertook indentured servitude, or else they were funneled into it with no choice in the matter. Given his age at the time, the latter was more likely in August’s case. Wyatt nudged him back to the matter at hand, “Keats?”

“Ah. His Lordship passed on and the heir was…my service was gambled away. The game was fixed. He made certain to tell me that afterwards—Keats—he always would have won me.” 

“So he sought you out? You do look tremendously similar to the boy they believe you to be.” 

“Mas—” August deflated a little at the misstep before correcting, “Mr. Keats has a type, sir.” 

Wyatt reached to lift a lock of August’s auburn hair between his fingers, it was beginning to curl into waves as it dried. “So I see.” 

August blinked up at him meekly. 

Quite the shift from the feral boy in the cellar. Wyatt wondered if he would be quiet or quick-witted or still volatile when he wasn’t threatened or in pain. What might he do if he were handed a shilling or a pound to do with what he wished? Perhaps in time, he could find out. 

“Tell me, what happened to Keats’ other boy then?”

“He—he’s dead, sir. Keats was—was finished with him…” He pulled the covers closer, shrinking into the armchair. “We’re just…strays, he says…born strays so we should d-die like strays, too—”

On one hand, he could relieve August of having to recount the specifics but on the other, he didn’t want to prematurely dam this flow of information about his rival. 

“—I was there. He begged but he didn’t fight. They didn’t even tie his hands—” He looked down at his own, lying in his lap, voice growing distant. “Just—just put in the bricks and then—and then—” 

“All right, all right.” 

August looked up, his eyes wide, almost like he was surprised to see Wyatt still sitting there. “In—in the water. I saw he was fighting—” He was panicking now, struggling against the tide of the memory. “In the water—he—he—I saw him—I saw—”

If he were any of the other boys, Wyatt would have given him a quick slap across the face to arrest whatever fit he was having. But August looked so delicate before him, cheeks hollower than they should be, though swelling on one side from being hit earlier. He was peaky where he should have been rosy, trembling like he couldn’t get warm, and had purple shadows akin to bruises beneath his wide eyes as though in a painful state of exhaustion. Wyatt put a steadying hand on his shoulder. 

He gripped Wyatt’s forearm with both hands, suddenly resurfacing to the present. “Please, sir, just keep me. I’ll be good and helpful and anything you wish. Keep me in the cellar for the others, I’ll take it well—”

“Jesus, lad—” 

“—Please, sir, just don’t put me out. I beg of you. He’ll—” A sob racked his thin frame, spurring a cough that sounded even rougher. A souvenir from the workhouse that some of the other boys shared. He lost his breath but pushed on hoarsely, “he’ll kill me, sir. Please, please, I know you’re the better man. If you won’t have me, just shoot me properly. Anything but—”

“August—”

“Please, sir,” he whispered. “I don’t want to die like that—” And then he was overcome, sobbing and begging incoherently as he clutched onto the older boy who held his life in his hands. Both knowing these were roles they’d found themselves in before. 

“Hush, all will be right,” Wyatt soothed. He pulled him out of the chair, wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him steady on his feet. August leaned into the half-embrace, fingers moving to grip the lapels of Wyatt’s jacket. Wyatt moved them across the room to the window. 

It was on the back of the house, overlooking the muddy, little patch Midge pretended was a garden. A generously bowing fence boxed it off from the identical squares on either side and the alley before the next row of houses. 

The window latch was loose and stubborn at the same time. Wyatt had to use two hands to get it to release. He worried he was holding August too firmly to gain use of his right hand but the boy only made himself smaller, folding closer and quieting himself as he did. 

Finally, the window came open. It was a good size, which meant it let in a god-awful draft, but for now it was just right. August turned to look out, sniffling, his breath still ragged. 

The sun was set but the sky had yet to turn dark enough to reveal the stars. It wasn’t so much fresh air as it was cool air and more of it. The city smoked just as much as the rest of them, exhaling from chimneys, old coal-burning stoves, and countless cigarettes held out for her to taste on the streets, in the alleys, and leaning out windows. As the air and noise of the city filled the room, it felt for all the world like they stood outside instead of surrounded by four walls and covered by a roof. 

August let go of Wyatt’s jacket, slipping his fingers back inside the bedcovers and pulling them closer around his shoulders. Wyatt followed his lead and moved his arm onto his shoulders, less of an embrace and more of a casual stance he’d take with any of the others. He was surprised—and belated to make any catch—when August slid out of it, sinking to his knees in front of the window. 

Wyatt crouched beside the smaller boy, checking to see if his eyes were becoming unfocused. “Do you need to lie down?” Perhaps he should check if he was becoming fevered, the wound at his side— 

“No, sir.” He sniffled. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Is it too much? I can close—”

He shook his head. “No, sir. It’s—I’m afraid—afraid—of falling, sir.” 

His chest tightened. “August.” He lifted the boy’s chin with his fingers. His eyes shone, full of tears reflecting the light from the street and the bright rising moon above. “I’m not going to push you.” 

“I know, sir,” he whispered but a tear slid down his cheek and he had to bite his bottom lip to stop it from trembling. 

He moved his hand to his cheek and August leaned into the touch, making a soft sound in the back of his throat. Wyatt was surprised by how much he wanted to stop August crying, stop him hurting. How much he wanted August to believe the words coming out of his own mouth and not just say them to please. What it would take to earn this boy’s trust. What it would mean if he could. His heart raced as if he were staring down the barrel of a gun himself. “I’ll not shoot you either. No one’s going to hurt you. No one’s going to lay a finger on you.”

“I—” August’s voice cracked and he shook his head, doubling down on keeping his lips pressed together to keep from crying as more tears fell from his eyes.

“You’ll be safe here, August. I’ll make certain of it.” The weight of his words pressed against his chest but he drove on, emboldened by the way it felt, the way it sounded, to make these promises, and the way August looked at him as he did. “You have my word. I swear, I’ll keep you safe, little lamb.”

Next

@whumpy-writings @writer-reader-24 @deluxewhump @no-whump-on-main  @maracujatangerine  @whumptakesthecake   @painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch @briars7 @gala1981 @redwingedwhump @whumpflash @peachy-panic @hold-him-down @poeticagony

[honeycollectswhump]

to be known is to be loved

you know how when you are very close and familiar with someone, you can recognise them with ease.

you only need a slimmer of their voice from far away and your body perks up. it recognises the voice before you even processed it.

you can recognise their steps, their hums and coughs. you recognise the way they knock on your door and the way their keys jingle.

now imagine a long lost whumpee returning unexpectedly one day. perhaps a rescue team is still talking to caretaker, telling them they are unsure it’s the right person, they are unrecognisable and changed.

yet when caretaker hears them coming, they recognise whumpee’s steps, no matter how soft and unstable they are.

they burst into tears before they have even seen them, barely holding themselves back.

whumpee enters the room, broken and bloodied and nearly a different person and for a moment they are afraid caretaker won’t even recognise them, like the rescuers did. but the. they see caretakers face and open arms and jump into their embrace.

[whump-obsessed-less-stressed]

I freaking LOVE when a caretaker is scary but like not towards whumpee, maybe they had a pretty dark past or just have a resting bitch face; or whumpee and caretaker are simply members of the villain team so everybody is pretty afraid of them. Well, catch is, caretaker is actually quite friendly with people they know and like, but WILL be aggressive whenever whumpee is involved like

Cue whumpee behind them

"Excuse me they asked for no pickles."

[tss-whumper]

i'm writing a really whumpy concept about a whumpee who has been in captivity since early youth.

even though he's grown, he still has the mind and soul of a little boy because he was never taught how to grow up, and in fact, his youthful energy was encouraged.

but he knows so much pain, more pain and suffering than any child or adult ought to know.

but the most devastating part about this whumpee is that he has no idea what it means to be a person without suffering. caretaker tells him to please...just be a kid. just act normal. don't scurry to do the chores immediately, don't act like a machine, don't try everything possible to please or pleasure caretaker. just exist.

but whumpee does not know how. he remembers the games he watched kids play through his window outside, while he was all alone and nursing wounds.

he tries his best to recreate them. but there are chunks missing.

he plays hopscotch, but all he does is hop on the ground, not knowing that one must draw squares and numbers on the ground to play hopscotch properly.

he plays ring around the rosy, but he's all by himself. so he does not even make a circle. he just skips around and chants the song.

and caretaker is watching this, and trying to convince whumpee that he's doing a great job, that he's doing good, so that whumpee will not be so afraid of failing his mission of being "normal".

but it's just so heartbreaking to watch a boy who doesn't understand childhood, and has only ever seen it from afar.

[whumpetywhumpwhump]

Pneumonia whumpee being poked, prodded, listened to, etc. Embarrassed that Caretaker has to see them in such a pathetic state. Bonus points for intubation anxiety and Caretaker trying to reassure Whumpee that they'll be okay.

For the fourth time in what feels like ten minutes, whumpee is hoisted up, leaning against caretaker and breathing raggedly as the doctor presses the cool metal of the stethoscope against their chest and back. They can hear the crackling of their lungs without the device, so god knows how bad it sounds to the doctor. Caretaker brushes back their hair, hand lingering on their feverish forehead.

"Alright, take a deep breath for me." The doctor murmurs quietly, brow furrowed seriously.

Whumpee inhales, their grip on Caretaker's arm tightening with the rush of pain it sends flooding through them. Their head spins. Even with such an intense effort, they feel as though they haven't received any oxygen at all- the mask on their face doesn't seem to be doing anything to rectify that either.

After a few moments, the doctor draws away, and caretaker helps whumpee lay back down, exhausted and light-headed. The look on the doctor's face is hardly reassuring.

"Your breathing's not any better, I'm afraid. We've tried putting you on maximum oxygen but the pneumonia has developed too far for that to help."

whumpee doesn't have the energy to speak. they've already been poked full of needles for ABG tests, medications, etc. Their arms are littered with bruises. Their chest aches with every movement. The fever that burns through them is agonising too.

it's caretaker, therefore, that voices the all-important question.

"What... what does that mean, then?"

the doctor sighs, placing the stethoscope back around their neck. "I know this is hard to hear, but at this stage one of the avenues of treatment is intubation. We'd put whumpee in a medically induced coma for a while to let their body rest and recover. At the moment, they're expending too much energy on just breathing. this would take that load off their shoulders."

whumpee turns their head weakly, still resting on the pillow. caretaker's eyes are misty with tears.

when they see whumpee's worried expression, however, they sigh, moving in closer to press a kiss to their forehead.

"you're going to be just fine, sweetheart."

whumpee swallows, nostrils flaring. "t-tired."

"I know... you're going to go to sleep for a while, whumpee. have nice sweet dreams.

it's going to be okay."

**

part 2??? do people wanna see me do an actual intubation drabble??? writing about my odd obsession in detail??? lmk!!

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

things an intimidating/possessive caretaker can say to whumpee

tw: mention of violence, manipulation (depends on how you view it) and ed. scroll past this if it might upset you

“you wanna tell me where you got those bruises from?”

“roll up your sleeve, you know I don’t like repeating myself.”

“I know you’re bleeding. I can smell your blood, and you’re pale. now you wanna tell me what happened and who hurt you? or do I have to find it out myself?”

“who did this to you?”

“I know you and I know it when you lie to me, and you know how I feel about being lied to.”

“no one is going to love and accept you like I do. don’t you understand that?”

“I’m not angry at you. I’m angry at the scum that thought he could do this to you, and I will make him pay for it.”

“stop squirming and it will hurt less.”

“I’m sorry for yelling. I supposed I got so angry that I lost it, but I wasn’t angry at you. I was angry at that sick fuck, and at myself for not seeing the signs sooner.”

“is that really what you think of me? you think I would — you think I would hurt you?”

“you don’t have to be afraid of me.”

“no, I won’t allow you to put yourself in danger like that again. and if I have to tie you up or chain you down to this very bed to make sure you stay put, I will.”

“you can hate me all you want, but I’m not letting you hurt yourself anymore.”

“eat. this is not a question, you have to eat something and I’m hoping that you won’t make me force you.”

“quit your crying, it’s not going to help.”

“it’s okay, you can cry.”

“I am saving you whether or not you want to be saved.”

“you’re a stubborn brat, but you’re my stubborn brat. I will not let anybody touch what is mine.”

“I told you to listen to me. you should’ve listened to me.”

“I don’t want you to apologize to me, I want you to stop doing this to yourself.”

“let me see [the wound]. I said let me see.”

“there’s a reason people are afraid of me. I am capable of the most brutal acts of violence, yes, but I want you to know that you don’t have to be afraid of me. I’m not gonna hurt you the way I hurt everybody else. you… I’m not gonna hurt you. you don’t have to trust me, but I won’t hurt you.”

“this is your home now. it’ll be easier if you accept that.”

“everything I do, I do it for your own good.”

“you don’t realize how much you mean to me, do you?”

“I know it hurts, but I need you to be brave for me right now.”

“stop it. stop fighting against me. I am helping you.”

“I’d burn the world down for you.”

“look what you made me do. none of this would’ve happened if you just listened to me.”

“I saved you. all these deaths? it’s worth it. I would do anything and everything to keep you safe.”

[spinzolliii]

Caretaker falling apart over what might’ve happened to Whumpee, but deciding to respect Whumpee’s privacy. They have to stop themselves from prying or asking certain questions, knowing full well that there’s a darker, painful, intimate story behind Whumpee’s condition.

Alternatively, Whumpee’s history is eating away at them, and they’re dying to tell Caretaker everything. They decide to repress themselves for one reason or another. Maybe they’re afraid of disturbing Caretaker. Maybe they’re doubting their own recollection of what happened. Maybe they’ve been conditioned to view vulnerability as weakness.

Either way, there’s something preventing these two people from sharing the whole truth about a painful situation.