Tumgik
#caretaker & whumpee
hollowgast1 · 2 years
Text
Wisteria #2
Masterlist
CW: BBU adjacent whump (fear, etc), referred to as an animal, threats, adult language, shock collar, general caretaking
Calix whimpered, his hands curled in against his bare chest. He bowed his head, trembling before the outraged man pacing the throne room.
“Shut the hell up!” Quill growled, throwing his hands up. Calix ducks, his sob rattling his bones, but the slap wasn’t directed at him.
‘M sorry, ‘m sorry, Calix repeated in his head, until his thoughts were jumbled into an assortment of sounds he couldn’t make out.
Quill stopped suddenly in the middle of the room, his stone-hard eyes beaming into Calix with something like disgust. “Somebody get this mutt a babysitter. I need a break from looking at it.”
“Of course, sir,” someone echoed, and Quill began walking towards Calix. He desperately curled in on himself but Quill grabbed him under his arms and lifted him as though he weighed nothing. Quill carried him, frozen still and whimpering, into a spare private room.
“Sit up fucking straight,” Quill snapped. “Or do you need to relearn your basic training?”
Calix shook his head immediately, tears welling in his eyes as he straightened his back painfully. He was good, he can be good.
==
“Oh my God—” Fallon ran across the room and skidded to her knees in front of the boy, who flinched but forced himself not to move away. “Calix? Calix, love, it’s Fallon. Can you look at me, bud? Hey, hey, it’s okay . . .”
Fallon glared over her shoulder at Quill, who looked down at her as though he found her very existence insulting. “So this is your great masterpiece, huh? All this work and pain, and for what? So you can get bored with him after a day and throw him back in a cell with a new load of trauma to bury?”
Quill just shrugged. “Interpret as you will.”
“You’re fucking sick!” Fallon screamed as he left the room, but instantly regretted it when she turned and saw Calix silently sobbing. “No, no, Calix, it’s okay, I’m sorry. Will you look at me?”
His head tilted up just a centimeter, but wouldn’t meet her eyes, even as she gently tilted his head. Fallon’s eyes widened as they moved down to his neck and saw the shock collar fastened tight. “Oh, no, love. You’re not an animal!”
She quickly undid the buckle and pulled the collar away; Calix could have wept with relief, his shoulders hunching as the anxiety of the shock left his body. Fallon’s eyes widened at the burn scars beneath, and she gently stroked his hair. He didn’t know if he wanted to lean into the touch or escape it. 
Then Fallon took in the rest of him.
“Good Lord, Lix, come up here,” she said, putting her hands under his arms to help him stand. She ended up picking him up like he weighed absolutely nothing, and he whimpered as she laid him down on the bed. Calix’s arms desperately tried to cover himself. “It’s okay, baby, you’re safe,” Fallon whispered. He curled up in a ball and she surrounded him with blankets, cocooning him in the soft embrace. He had to admit he felt some level of safer, despite knowing that the blankets could be ripped from him at any moment leaving him exposed. “That’s it,” she breathed, ever so quietly. “Can I check you for injuries?”
Calix’s blue eyes widened in fear and Fallon quickly added, “You can say no, of course, love. We can do it another time.”
He shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes again. He only wanted to please Fallon—he’d do whatever she wanted. 
“Alright. You need sleep, love. I can leave you alone here, if it’ll make you feel safer. I’ll be just outside the room the whole time, okay? Would you like that?” Fallon slipped off the bed, pausing when Calix opens his mouth, a strangled sob escaping. Her features soften at his teary-eyed desperation. “You can speak, it’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”
His voice comes out just barely a whisper, like a scratch in the back of his throat, rusty from disuse. Fallon has to lean forward to hear what he says. “I- I . . . do n-not ha-h-have . . . w-wants . . .” Calix sobbed quietly.
“Of course you do, Lix,” Fallon says gently, smiling warmly at him, though her heart was shattering into a dozen pieces and she felt like curling up and sobbing for him. “It’s okay to want. What do you want, love? Do you want me to go?”
Calix quickly shook his head, crying louder at the idea.
“No? You want me to stay?” Fallon asked, the knot in her stomach loosening. Calix nodded hesitantly.
“P-pl-please?”
Fallon nodded, climbing back onto the bed and sitting next to his quivering form. She stayed on top of the blankets, for his comfort. “Do you trust me, Calix?” she asked him softly. She felt him nod. Fallon arranged the blankets around him, tucking him in and protectively but gently wrapping her arms around his torso. “I’ll watch over you while you sleep, love. No one will touch you but me. You don’t have to be scared. Everything will be okay.”
Everything will be okay, he repeated in his head, trying his best for the moment to believe the lie.
@whumpinthepot
63 notes · View notes
starssabove · 1 year
Text
Prompt no3
Whumpee is sick, running a high fever, and being treated within Whumpers base. Whumper insists on continuing with Whumpees torture regardless, and Caretaker volunteers in their place- at least until Whumpee recovers. What now?
Will Whumper allow the switch? Do they find the same fascination/ fulfillment in torturing Caretaker? Less? More, knowing that it still hurts Whumpee indirectly (emotionally)?
Will Whumpee let Caretaker make the switch? Will they protest- either with words or attempt to do so physically? Will they have to be restrained/ sedated due to this resistance?
Does Whumpee convince Caretaker or Whumper to take the torture themself anyways? How does this affect Caretaker? Is Whumper proud? Do they go easy on Wumpee because of this?
Does Caretaker go without a scene? Are they nervous, terrified, calm? Are they able to keep their composure in front of Whumpee? How about in front of Whumper?
Bonus hurt- Can Whumpee hear Caretaker scream?
If caretaker is tortured: Afterwards-
Does Caretaker handle it well? Are they alright, or do they come out worse for wares? Do they show Whumpee how badly they're actually hurt?
Does Whumper use this to guilt Whumpee in the future? Does Whumpee blame themself?
Does Caretaker come to understand Whumpee better/ how to better care for them?
Or does Caretaker come to resent Whumpee (either consciously or not)?
Does Whumpee have to take care of hurt caretaker? Are they still sick while doing so? 
Does Caretaker still do their best to take care of the sick Whumpee regardless of their injuries or mental state?
52 notes · View notes
whumpycries · 2 years
Text
written for this prompt by @whump-blog
didn't do the complete prompt, migth continue later.
content: stabbing, medical care, past forced self harm and graphic, bad medical care, guilty whumper, whumpee turned caretaker.
The realisation hit Alexander as soon as he locked the door behind him, sliding down with his hand clutched to his side, bleeding out.
He had thought, a little foolishly, that he'd be fine as soon as he reached home. That of course they didn’t know where he lived, and that he knew he hadn’t been followed, and that he would be able to rest and recuperate and then go back to get his revenge. 
He had forgotten about Nick. 
Nick, who, as reward for his obedience, wasn’t locked and chained up while Alexander wasn’t at home anymore. Nick, who was looking at him from the end of the hall. Nick, who Alex has been hurting for over a year now. 
I probably deserve it, was the last thought in his mind before his vision finally gave out, and he was dragged down to unconsciousness. 
Alexander woke up, which was to be expected. Can’t take revenge on a dead person, after all. Although he was still a little surprised because there had still been the small possibility that Nick might have just wanted it all done and over with and killed him. 
The second thing he realised was that he was on a bed. Not just any bed though, he was on his bed, firm and familiar and comforting. He was fairly certain he wasn’t bound in any way either, despite being in considerable pain. 
He peeled his eyes open, and looked down at himself. He’d been stripped from waist up, and there was a clean, white bandage wrapped around his torso, over the place he’d been stabbed. It throbbed and ached and stung, but it was clearly not bleeding anymore. 
Nothing else, though. Nothing. He still had all his stuff next to him. Including his knife, his phone, and his car keys. Alex stared at those dumbly, until he heard footsteps. His head whipped up to see Nick entering the room, a tray in his hands. He was walking a little unsteadily, but managed not to drop anything. 
When he saw that Alex was awake, he froze. Then, seeming to shake himself, he walked back over to his bedside and set the tray over on the table, right next to Alex’s other things. 
“Sir,” Nick whispered, “There’s some– some painkillers. Don’t… please don’t have them on an empty stomach.” 
Nick cringed as he spoke, as if expecting to be hit. But Alexander just stared at the boy, trembling faintly as he fidgeted at the bedside. He gingerly propped himself up on his elbows and saw that the tray did have a bottle of over the counter painkillers, a small mug of soup, and a glass of water. 
Alex looked back at Nick, something heavy growing in his gut as Nick seemed to grow paler and paler. Then, quite suddenly, Nick dropped down to his knees, wringing his hands impossibly harder. 
“Can I–” he stammered, “May I look at your wound, sir?” 
Ah fuck it. He’ll deal with his emotions about the matter later. Currently, all Alex cared about were the goddamn painkillers and the fact that he didn’t seem to be in any immediate danger. He pushed himself up into a sitting position with a grunt, swinging his legs off the bed and leaning his side against the headboard. He picked up and swallowed down a pill, downing half the glass of water. 
He turned towards Nick, who was looking at him anxiously, his lip already bleeding from where he’d bitten through it. 
Alex waves his hand, ignoring Nick’s flinch, “Go ahead, I suppose.” 
He does, unwrapping the bandages with now steady hands. The change is so abrupt Alexander wonders for a moment if the tremors were just for show, but he knows better. He’s seen it happen before, force of habit, needs must, and all that. Some things just need a steady hand. 
Logically, he knows his side must have been stitched to have stopped bleeding. He just hadn’t really considered that Nick would have actually stitched him up. Quite neatly at that. 
Alex knows how how badly it is possible to fuck up stitches, after all. He’s seen it on Nick, when he’d forced him to cut himself and then stitch himself back up. He’s fairly certainly some of the cuts scarred because they’d been stitched. 
Alex stays still as Nick checks over the neat line of stitches, cleaning up little spots of blood and applying a cool ointment over it. After he’s done, still kneeling, Nick scoots back over, bowing his head and resting his hands on his lap. His hands have started trembling again. 
Fuck. 
--
part two
44 notes · View notes
pxppet · 1 year
Text
Year of Whump Jan. 8 prompt!
restrained with belt buckles / abandoned / icy tundra / holding hands / “Save your tears”
A glimpse at Marvin & JJ's punishments while being held by Anti.
CW: frostnip, abuse, abuse from a spouse, kidnapping, restrained character, character being beaten, minor to extreme injuries, panic attack, general distress warning
▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸
They'd been staying in Russia for a month when Marvin tried to run away.
Anti found them. Of course he did. There was no town for miles, he just had to search the fields of the tundra. He chased them down and dragged them back to their abandoned house in the country. The beating, Marvin could take. Jameson's beating was harder on them. But this…
Their head sags further, held up to the cold metal pole by a buckled belt. It might have once been a basketball goal. Now it's only an instrument of pain. They can't cry, the ice will stick to their face and kill them quicker. Anti won't let them die, this they know, but hour upon hour in the frozen field is whittling away at that thought.
Marvin shifts in their handcuffs, trying to pull themselves into a ball inside their jacket despite their head being trapped. Jameson's begging, black eyed and swollen, is the only reason they have a coat at all. Their breath hitches on a sob, Anti's fist connecting with JJ's nose flashing in their mind. They pant harsh white clouds until the sob leaves them. They shiver, a small whimper lets loose from them.
As they're curling up even smaller, the screen door bursts open at the house, and Jameson is dragged out to the pole by his hair. Anti throws him to the ground beside Marvin, silent in anger. Jameson is wheezing, a bruised rib making every loud puff of breath painful. His hands are begging, 'please' over and over, cowering, aching, terrified. Anti lets out a huff that could be a laugh, turns around, and stalks away, leaving them there together in the freezing dead grass.
Marvin watches Jameson tremble and pant through a panic attack. They attempt to lean towards him, but the belt strap holding them there stops them short. "J-james," they try. Their throat is so dry, so cold. Fuck, Jameson doesn't even have a coat or shoes on. "JJ, come here, you'll freeze."
Jameson is folded in half over himself, but looks to them miserably, tears already making frost on him. Marvin holds out their handcuffed hands. Jameson lets out a sob and crawls across the frozen dirt towards them. They pull him close inside their coat, holding their hands together, cupping his in their own with difficulty.
"S-save your tears for when he lets us back i-in." Marvin's teeth are chattering. JJ stares at them, his entire face somehow downturned. He suddenly burrows against them, hiding, making himself small, make the world go away, he begs. Marvin tries harder than ever to not cry, rubbing their head against Jameson's hair, careful not to disturb the needles stuck in his earlobe. Any comfort they can give in this hell.
"We'll b-be okay, he can't stay mad f-forever, love."
Jameson nods, trying to brush frost off his face. He's already trembling. Marvin heaves a breath. They look toward the house, brows drawn tight, chattering. They can feel the red frostnip on their fingers and cheeks, burning paradoxically. Another sob tempts at their sinful throat.
They blink hard, once, twice; then burrow down against the only warmth they have, not just in the cold, but the only warmth and light in their life with Anti.
9 notes · View notes
whumpprentice · 9 months
Text
you know what trope drives me absolutely feral? Repetition. Just :
"Hey, hey, it's okay"
"Shh, you're safe, you're safe, it's alright "
"Look at me. Hey, look at me"
"Stay with me. Come on, just stay with me"
"It's over. It's over now."
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry"
"I'm here. I'm right here"
5K notes · View notes
whump-kia · 1 year
Text
the classic "are you hurt?" but the whumpee is the one saying it. slurring the words through a hoarse throat and numbed lips, their eyes are glazed and their hands are shaking, frantic at the blood soaking the caretaker's shirt and too delirious to realize it's all their own.
7K notes · View notes
jordanstrophe · 2 months
Text
Whumpee awakens curled in the backseat in someone's arms.
They look down, their entire torso is drenched with blood.
They start to panic, but someone holds them tightly. "Shhh, shh sh, it's okay, go back to sleep. Close your eyes." Someone grabs a blanket and covers their chest with it.
"You're going to be fine, I got you. Go back to sleep... Please."
A hand brushes over their face and closes their eyes. Whumpee finds themselves doing what the voice tells them to.
1K notes · View notes
Text
don't you ever see a blorbo and wanna just-
Tumblr media
2K notes · View notes
chiharuuu22 · 2 months
Text
Shhhh! Keep your voice down and don't be loud. Whumpee is sleeping (or has just fallen asleep).
In Caretaker's arms after being rescued.
In a hospital bed in a recovery ward (or perhaps an ICU) after receiving care and treatment or perhaps emergency surgery.
On a bed in a room in a recovery house. Bonus points for the house are that the house belongs to the Caretaker and the bed BELONGS TO CARETAKER (AND CARETAKER'S BEDROOM)!!!!
In the passenger seat. Sleep on your back in the back seat or sleep in a half-sitting position after the seat is lowered slightly on the driver's side seat. Bonus points Caretaker puts on the jacket or coat to cover Whumpee.
On the sofa in front of the fireplace.
In a wheelchair while taking a leisurely walk.
On the couch on the terrace.
On the Caretaker's lap. Bonus points with the accompaniment of Caretaker's soft voice lulling Whumpee to sleep and caressing Whumpee's hair.
Sleep leaning on the Caretaker's shoulder when sitting side by side. Bonus points when they are in a discussion with the team members and Whumpee suddenly falls asleep exhausted.
Anything you want to add?
1K notes · View notes
hurtmyfavsthanks · 4 days
Text
We all know about magical fatigue as a whump trope for magical overuse. Now I raise you: Magical euphoria.
Magic that feels good to use. It leaves the user dizzy and lightheaded, a giddy energy rushing through their entire body. It's enough to leave the most stoic whumpee giggling madly, to make the most obedient soldier go rogue. It's a power that ultimately, inevitably, controls its user.
Mages aren’t trusted to act on their own. They can’t be, not when each spell costs them their sanity. Not when, in a daze of manic joy, they’re just as liable to destroy the enemy as their allies.
And so they need a handler.
Imagine Caretaker in this situation. Forced to watch Whumpee throw themselves into madness, to turn themselves into an unthinking weapon under the demand of some uncaring general. Having to put aside their affection for Whumpee as a person, and analyze them as a tool.
It’s Caretaker who decides when Whumpee is still fit for battle. It’s caretaker who has to look into their dazed and distant eyes, blood dripping into a too wide smile, and decide if Whumpee has anything else to give.
It’s Caretaker who decides when they’re too far gone, when Whumpee needs to stop. And if Whumpee can’t, it’s Caretaker’s job to make them stop. Even if that means using force, even if it means hurting them, because letting them run wild isn’t an option.
And when the battle’s over, when Whumpee is either led or dragged away to the medical wing, Caretaker’s the only one brave enough to tend to their injuries. They wrap bleeding, scorched fingers without a word, the only sound being Whumpee babbling, mad ramblings. Caretaker knows they won’t remember any of this. They still talk to Whumpee anyway, soft, comforting words they hope will bring Whumpee back faster.
And when whumpee’s eyes finally clear, when their body sags with exhaustion they’re just now able to feel, Caretaker feels nothing but grief, because it’ll start all over again tomorrow.
748 notes · View notes
3-2-whump · 17 days
Text
As much as I love Whumpee x Caretaker...
Rb if you think Caretaker can be a brother, a friend, or just some guy who found Whumpee at the right place, right time and stay that way
711 notes · View notes
starssabove · 1 year
Text
Old Habits
[ TW / CW: Whumpee, Conditioned Whumpee, non-con kissing, non-con touching, Caretaker to Whumper, electrocution, Creepy/ Intimate Whumper, recapture. Please let me know if i missed any!! ]
......
Theyd finally done it.
Whumpee had finally gotten out.
The room they found themself in was clean and homely and their wounds had been gently patched up by Rescuer, a friend of Caretaker.
Caretaker.
Oh god.
Whumpees stomach dropped as they thought of Caretaker again. Left behind in the stale infirmary at Whumpers base while they sat comfily on this bed. Caretaker had been in bad shape when Resucer came for them- and with Whumper already on their way to stop the escape by any means- they couldnt keep up. Caretaker had said it was fine, said they could wait for Resucer to come back for them but the terror in their wet eyes and one silent tear betrayed them as they stopped their limped running and Rescuer dragged Whumpee away. They didnt want to think about Caretaker anymore, didnt want to think about what could be happening to them right now, as their own silent tears slid down their cheeks.
And here they were, absolutely free for the first time in months; yet everything still felt cold and painful and they sat in the same rigid position on the end of the bed crying the same as they used to. They didnt know how to be free without Caretaker and their warm comforts and pleasures.
—----
Whumpee jolts awake at the sound of a very creaky door opening. Their door.
Fear wells inside them and they prepare themself for the worst- to look up and see Whumper and their stupid smug face.
Theyre equally as startled when they look up and see Caretaker standing a few feet away, swaying slightly. Tears of relief already pooled in Whumpees eyes as they frantically push off their covers and jump up to meet Caretaker where they stand.
As soon as theyre upright, however, their relief fades just as quickly. A number of realizations come as they follow Caretaker's body down to the floor. Their face was cut and bruised on both sides, scratches infected and dried blood trailing down their chin and neck. They were wearing a new collar of sleek leather with something beneath it which already left blossoming bruises. Their clothes were stained with blood and dirt and were definitely more tattered since they last saw them. When Whumpees eyes find Caretaker's hands at their stomach, confusion and fear nestle comfortably into their stomach.
A knife.
Caretaker was gripping a knife, one of Whumper's knives, and it was pointed at them.
Whumpee was going to be sick.
Before they can even move, Caretaker's shaking voice cuts across the silence.
“I'm so sorry- I love y-” they try, but this appears to be the wrong choice of words as their knees buckle in pain and they choke out a sob- grabbing at their shock collar.
Something inside of Whumpee shattered- Caretaker is being forced to do this. And its their fault.
They're at a loss for words as they watch Caretaker slowly get back up to a standing position, the knife now gripped even tighter, knuckles white.
“He says he’ll be nice. You have two options.” Caretaker begins as their face morphs from pain to guilt and they take a deep breath before continuing. “Come without a fight and you'll be punished- by me.” Caretaker looks away from Whumpee at this, their promise to never hurt Whumpee again echoing through their head.
“Resist, and we'll take Rescuer along with you and punish everyone else who failed to stop your escape. Twenty lashes each and you have to watch all of it after you get your own by Whumper himself.” Caretaker lets a small sob out and immediately regrets it as a smaller shock is sent through their collar.
“He says there’s a correct choice and he trusts you'll make it.” Caretaker finishes. They visibly slump as they carry the weight of the words they just said.
“It's okay,” Whumpee chokes out finally. “I'll go.”
Whumpee steps forward as Caretaker briefly stares in horror- then scrambling to put the knife in their belt and take the rope from the bag that was strewn on the floor. Tears fell down their face as they began to tie Whumpees shaking wrists together.
“I love you too.” Whumpee says softly as they try to put on a resilient expression.
This is okay. Theyll be with Caretaker. They can finally help Caretaker.
“Aw, how sweet.” Whumpers voice hits Whumpee in the chest and pushes all the air out of their lungs. They feel like they're choking and their knees buckle until theyre in a heap at Caretakers feet. They hear a snide chuckle from across the room where he now stood.
Racing thoughts went through Whumpees head. They knew this was a part of the deal. Should have known that agreeing to go back didnt just mean having Caretaker back, but being with Whumper again- but they still began breathing heavier and heavier as a stiff fear swept through the room. Whumper begins to step towards Whumpee and Whumpee begins scrambling backward with half-bound hands, kicking their legs and flailing to push them away. With three long steps, Whumper closed the gap and grabbed Whumpees shoulders, holding them in place.
“Now, love, you know what resisting will get you. Be a good boy and keep your promise.” and he yanks Whumpee up to stand, casually beginning to fix the bindings on their wrists. He gestures at Caretaker to bind Whumpees legs and they scramble to do so. When they both had finished he motions for Caretaker to step back and they do, another silent tear slipping away.
"I missed you, dear," Whumper whispers as he leans down and begins sloppily kissing Whumpees neck, moving up to their chin as Whumpee can't help but lean their head back and try to struggle against the snug new bindings. Quickly the kisses turn into sharp bites and Whumpee lets out a yelp at every one.
Pulling away, a new angered look appears on Whumpers face. Whumpee knows this look. The terror sets back into their stomach.
“You're really gonna regret trying to get away from me.” He says flatly as he fastens a new sleek leather collar just a bit too tight over Whumpees fresh bite marks- fit with a tracker.
“Touch that and it's ten lashes each time." he pauses, a softer expression taking over his features. "Do you like it, baby?” he coos and pulls Whumpees chin up so he can see their glazed-over eyes brimming with tears.
“Yes, Sir.” Whumpee says shortly. “Thank you.”
Caretaker can do nothing but bring their hand to their mouth to stifle their sobs.
“Good boy,” Whumper says and picks Whumpee up, walking out of the room.
____________________________________
Hi to anyone thats reading!!! This is my first post! I would really appreciate any shares! My asks are open and ill take requests as i think its a great way to start creating a blog! Send whatever you like!
Thanks so much for reading :D
-Ant
53 notes · View notes
valcaira · 6 months
Text
Attention Whump Community!
Clogging disability tags is a massive problem that we need to address. Many tags, especially those surrounding permanent injuries, paralysis, vision loss and certain illnesses have become unusable due to being flooded with unrelated things. Yes, that includes your writing. Those tags are not for you. It's isolating, frustrating and depressing to try finding a community and other people who share your issues but all that comes up is whump, fandom shit, gifs, headcanons, etc.
I'm newly paralyzed. I have looked at many tags surrounding paralysis, trying to find support, a community, anything of people struggling with the same thing. Nothing. There's barely anything for us in the general disabilty tags. I am BEGGING you to understand and recognize how AWFUL it is.
So, I have a proposition. A tag you can and should use exclusively for disability content in whump writing. Not any other tag surrounding disability, lest you'll clog it up.
#disabled whumpee
It's tempting to use more specific tags, I get it. Due to being in the whump community myself I know #medical whump is already a tag. You have those tags. Use them. Don't use the disability tags. Don't clog up the few spaces us disabled people have.
2K notes · View notes
jump-in-the-whump · 7 months
Text
the weary feverish whumpee aesthetic™
I love it when a whumpee is so weak that they:
are bedridden, much to their discomfort. They long to leave the bed, but cannot because they are too weak, and their legs shake at the thought of taking even a single step.
can't keep their eyes open. Their eyelids flutter but due to tiredness and too much light, they always close again. However, the whumpee has learned to rely on other senses, and is able to recognize the caretaker's voice or touch among a thousand others.
have to always lie down. They try to sit up, perhaps to eat something, but after a few minutes their head starts spinning and their body starts screaming because of the effort. Much to their chagrin, they have to force themselves back down or else they will likely pass out.
are not hungry. Their body can't handle even plain broth, making them queasy and dizzy. So they continue to refuse food, their only source of livelihood, and this obviously worsens their condition.
are too sensitive to touch. Their skin that seems to boil with fever, the bedsheets that rub down their limbs like sandpaper, the hair that sticks to their sweaty forehead, even the simple touch of the caretaker, a touch that is supposed to comfort them, is too much. They start to hate all these little things.
Please, feel free to add more.
2K notes · View notes
ms-write-a-lot · 23 days
Text
Villain stared at Hero, who stood bleeding all over his expensive doormat. ‘Hey.’ The Hero croaked, swaying to a side. They tried for a charming smile, but there was blood in their teeth. ‘Mind if I…crash here for tonight?’
And then they did crash. Into the fucking floor.
576 notes · View notes
Whumpee thinks Caretaker is their new master. Good trope, right? But check this out;
Caretaker doesn't notice.
Because the morning after the day they were rescued, all Whumpee did was get Caretaker a cup of coffee. It was only after then that Whumpee realized new master new rules, and Caretaker might not like coffee at all. So after an hour or so of a panic attack, Whumpee decides to stay put and not do anything.
But Caretaker didn't say anything about that coffee, so Whumpee should probably keep doing that?
And so, every morning, Caretaker gets a cup of coffee, says thank you, that's a nice gesture, and gets done with the day, while Whumpee tries to stay as quiet and unnoticed as possible. Not angering Caretaker is their top priority. Caretaker notices Whumpee is really, really quiet, but hey, they might just like it quiet. They do seem a little scared, but they've been putting off well, so Caretaker is positive that they'll get better with time.
Then Caretaker hears Whumper liked a cup of coffee every morning.
That's.. a strange coincidence.
I hope that's a coincidence.
And they finally try to talk to Whumpee about it, and Whumpee breaks into tears and Caretaker realizes what a mess this is,
560 notes · View notes