#Whumpee/Caretaker

[whump-side]

"You should have seen the other guy"

[marvel-ous-whump]

Whumpee and Caretaker have been friends for years, both secretly in love with and pining for the other. Whumpee gets taken by Whumper, then rescued and while in the hospital, loopy on painkillers and half-asleep. they tell Caretaker that they love them. Caretaker is surprised, but doesn't believe it because Whumpee

- is on *all* the Painkillers. - has been through massive trauma - Is half-asleep when they say it.

So when Whumpee wakes up properly and doesn't seem to remember the confession, Caretaker doesn't bring it up. Until like six months later, Whumpee says it again, wide awake, completely lucid and having been to a few therapy sessions. And Caretaker finally says it back

[anarchypumpkincowboy]

So we all know Porter’s got the jacked up pick up truck, and Jace definitely has a motorcycle. Now I want you to imagine a dark winter night. A snowstorm is coming in. They’re on a back road in the middle of nowhere.

There’s no one else around and they’re both being absolute asshole drivers to each other. Porter’s got road rage, and Jace is just being a bitch to be a bitch. Maybe he's had a few drinks. For whatever reason Porter's getting pissed the fuck off from this little shit on a motorcycle swerving between the lanes. He's revving the truck, he's riding his ass, but every time he tries to pass him Jace will swerve in front.

Now imagine they're coming up on a curve. They both know its there, but neither are slowing down or chilling out. Jace hits a patch of black ice. The swerving veers him right off the side of the road into a deep ditch, and Porter slams on his breaks, jumps out of the car with a flashlight, and starts making his way down the side of the ditch. He wanted to teach the dude a lesson sure but he doesn't want him dead. And the snowstorm's really picking up by now, the temperature has dropped to well below freezing. If he leaves that little shit's as good as dead.

Jace had been thrown off the motorcycle, but he couldn't've landed in a better spot honestly. He's pretty banged up. One leg is definitely broken, and moving the flashlight up it's looking like at least one of his arms is too. He's still conscious though, trying to push himself up and failing miserably. Porter snaps at him to quit moving or he'll make it worse before gently, oh so carefully, feeling him over for any more serious life endangering injuries. Not immediately finding any, he moves to pick him up, being careful with his head and removing his helmet, he starts walking them back up to his truck.

He'd planned on going back and grabbing the motorcycle but it's completely totaled at this point. But anyways he lays Jace down in the backseats and tries to secure him as best he can. The roads are too bad to get all the way back to town, let alone to a hospital, and Porter's already used up all his spell slots. He has a cabin close by though.

He takes them both to the cabin. Jace has been wavering in and out of consciousness the whole drive but he was coherent enough at one point to say his name. Porter gets them inside. He gets Jace out of his wet clothes as gently as he can before laying him down on the guest bed. Grabs some extra blankets and cranks the heat up. Does what little he can for the injuries before he can rest and use lay on hands.

The next morning after he's had some healing Jace is looking a little better, but he's still pretty injured, both of his arms had definitely been broken and he'd cracked a couple ribs too. And the cabin is completely snowed in. Even with Porter's truck there's no getting out of here for a few days at least. Guess Porter's stuck taking care of an injured little shit who just so happens to have the prettiest golden eyes he's ever seen. And hey maybe this accident's taught the little elf a lesson about driving recklessly through a snowstorm on a motorcycle

[whumpblrful]

His Warmth

Axesuke & Negasumi, 300 words

FebuWhump Day 2: “flinching”

Natsumi thinks Yuusuke is unfairly cute. His smile is bright, still, if a little manic. But so be it. He’s suffered enough to be justified in his tight faces and tighter movements.

He’s warm, too. Comforting, and she isn’t used to this. To someone she can trust. Chinatsu died a year ago, after all, and it feels like both yesterday and a hundred years ago.

She reaches for his hand as they take a short break to watch an old movie.

(How long has it been since she’s been able to rest like this?)

He jumps, pushing her back. She’s too shocked to fight it.

“Yuusuke?” She asks. Yuusuke’s eyes are wide, but then he blinks.

“Oh,” he says. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m… something it still feels like I’m back there.”

Natsumi shakes her head, going back over, an holding out her own hand.

“No, it’s fine,” she says. “I know how you feel. If it… I would help you leave.”

Yuusuke just shakes his head, taking her hand and pulling her close. Natsumi snuggles against him.

“No,” he says. “Forget it. Everything I want is here.”

Natsumi nods, but she still worries. Yuusuke’s so strong, but he’s hurt.

“Are you sure?” She asks, “you’re so quiet about your past. I don’t want you here, just for me. You barely know me.”

Yuusuke just smiles.

“I don’t regret a thing,” he says. “Except…”

Natsumi tenses.

“Except what?” She asks, and Yuusuke’s face falls in an instant. His eyes close, and he looks… broken. He is not supposed to be broken. He is supposed to be bright, and sure.

She puts her hand on his heart.

“My sister died,” Yuusuke says. “Because I lost. Nothing will ever change that.”

And Natsumi…

Hikari Natsumi does not know how to fix him.

[thinkingofausername]

I love when the whumpee has to reinvent themself. No, you will never be the past you again, they are permanently changed by the trauma, but that does not mean death. You just have to find you again. The people who care about you might mourn, you might as well, but getting to know each other again can be quite interesting.

[justbreakonme]

“Please… I’m so tired.”

“Then sleep. I’ll stand guard.”

“I thought you said it was safe here?”

“It is. But you don’t feel safe, do you?”

“…not yet.”

“Then I’ll stand guard, till you can.”

[whumporama]

Whumpee who is recovering after the whumpTM, but it's not going great. They're so frustrated with themselves, with their caretakers, just with everything. Everyone is so soft and understanding and it bothers them and they want to scream, but they know they should be grateful.

Until Caretaker comes along. Caretaker isn't 'nice' like the others, they don't take bullshit. They're good for Whumpee, but they don't baby them. They treat them like an adult with anatomy, and it's so refreshing for Whumpee.

"You want to stay up, fine. But you will tell me when you can't anymore, because if I have to drag you off the floor we're both in trouble. Understand?"

"Stop whining. What do you need?" (And then they get or do whatever it is without issues or judgement.)

"Want to tell me why you're doing worse today?" -- "No..." -- "Okay."

"Where does it hurt?" -- "It doesn-" -- "Don't give me that, I can see it hurts. Now tell me where."

Caretaker trusts Whumpee to know what they need, and lets them know again and again they won't take this nonsense of hiding their pain. They're practical, and kind, and Whumpee needed that.

[jordanstrophe]

Caretaker finds whumpee bound and gagged, unable to move and whimpering for their attention. Caretaker skids to their knees and pulls whumpee into their arms.

Whumpee, with their arms behind their back, can only press their face hard into caretaker's shoulder.

[spinzolliii]

DISCLAIMER: I HAVE NO CLUE IF THIS IS MEDICALLY ACCURATE

Something that whump writers don’t consider:

IVs feel cold. Can you imagine a room temperature liquid going directly into the bloodstream of someone who’s 97-104 degrees? It’s hellish. You can’t get warm no matter how much external heat you receive.

Imagine a delirious whumpee whimpering and clawing at an IV while being restrained and reassured by Caretaker.

“No no no, that stays in”

“Hey, hey. I know it hurts, but it’ll help you feel better”

Maybe the whumpee’s hallucinating, thinking that they’re being tortured. When Caretaker’s words fail to get through, they have to use gentle touches and singing. Or, if you want to be mean, you can have the Caretaker being forced to restrain Whumpee to prevent them from hurting themselves until they run out of energy and pass out.

[defire]

Whumpee that's never had genuine comfort before

(comfort stuff)

Caretaker trying to be gentle and whumpee freaks the fuck out--"what are you doing?!" With paranoid wide eyes

"I'm cleaning your wounds...." "Not like that you're not. Here, give me the needle."

Caretaker trying to comfort them--"fuck, you've had it rough" and reaching out for a hug and whumpee just stares at them

Whumpee trying to be "nice" to caretaker by slapping them on the back painfully hard and making boisterous vague remarks that are supposed to be compliments

Or, whumpee staring at caretaker wondering how to say "thank you" in a way that won't get them beaten up, like last time

Caretaker impulsively hugging or touching them out of kindness and whumpee flinches away and grabs the spot like it burns

"You've always taken care of your own wounds?" Caretaker says. Whumpee frowns, confused. "Who else is supposed to do them?"

"Look, I get that you're trying to be nice, caretaker, but I have it handled," whumpee trying to get themself across the kitchen by leaning on the counters.

"I do not need you. It's okay. I'm not a burden."

[whump-side]

Do you ever make yourself a gift as an artist and draw something you weren't able to illustrate with your baby skills back when you started to draw?

[the-bar-sinister]

Recovering whumpee completely vacant and dissociated while caretaker takes care of them. Staring off into space while caretaker washes their body and tends their wounds. Only barely responding when caretaker touches them soothingly.

[martyr-inthedark]

Make your Whumpee tired.

Whumpees that have been deprived of sleep by Whumper, so much so that they don't remember how to walk in a straight line and can't figure out whether the recent appearance of little black bugs in their cell are real or a hallucination.

Whumpees that can't get a full night's rest. They doze off, only to be jolted awake by their own anxiety of not knowing when Whumper would come back. Perhaps they are awakened by phlegm-coated coughs induced by their illness. They are awakened by nightmares, or by Caregiver who is worried they may succumb to hypothermia, or by a thunderstorm, or the rough blanket scratching their open wounds, or so on.

Whumpees who pull all nighters to protect their friends or lovers.

Whumpees whose eyes burn when they finally can close their eyes. Whumpees whose muscles twitch, who can't stop yawning no matter how hard they try to stifle it. Whumpees with dark, glassy eyes. Whumpees who are slow to react or have a hard time keeping up with the conversation. Whumpees with throbbing headaches. Whumpees with brain fog and memory loss.

Whumpees who have been on the run and have over exhausted their bodies. Their muscles and joints continue to scream long after its over. Whumpees with extensive blood loss. Whumpees who are malnourished.

Whumpees whose survivor's guilt keeps them awake, wondering what they might have done differently, whether it was all their fault, or why they were the ones to live.

Whumpees whose bodies are in chronic pain or illness and who have to hide it, causing muscle and mental fatigue. They keep going with a smile until they collapse or pass out.

Whumpees who break down in tears, begging to be left alone so they can rest. Whumpees who sob when they are told that the bed in front of them is theirs to use whenever they want.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

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.

[whumpy-bi]

Thinking about a rescuer/caretaker barging in and immediately softening when they see the state the victim is in—skittish, terrified, trying to get away from them.

The immediate softness and compassion of “No, no, I’m here to help.”

[ellecdc]

the basilisk and me

Sirius Black x fem!reader who is hallucinating [979 words]

CW: hallucinations, reader is in hospital, post first wizarding war, suggested and implied PTSD, anxiety/panic attack, based off of this prompt/idea, high stakes hurt/comfort A/N: ok first attempt at this kind of vibe so hopefully it's not complete shit

Sirius tried to stamp down on the fury threatening to take over as he walked as fast as socially acceptable through the hospital corridors. He promised you he’d be here today; the same time as he was the day before, and all the days before that since you’d been rescued following the end of the war from the Death Eater’s hideout. 

He kept that promise, but you wouldn’t know that thanks to the security personnel who spent the past twenty plus minutes arguing with Sirius about whether or not he was authorised to visit you.

There were only four people authorised to visit you, one of them was Sirius Black; Sirius Black who had been here yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that, etcetera. At the same time, every day; Sirius was here. You needed him here.

And he needed to be here; twenty plus minutes ago. 

Any relief he felt at the sight of your room vanished at the sound of your gut wrenching sobs, a shout, and the clattering of furniture. 

Officially forgoing social acceptability, Sirius broke out into a sprint before all but barreling into your hospital room. 

There were two mediwix closing in on you with three security personnel flanking them; all of their wands drawn as your wild eyes split your attention between the people circling you, anything in your room that you might be able to use to your advantage, and - apparently - the empty corner of the room.

“Get away from me!” You screeched before dodging behind a table tray meant for meals just as a purple spell left the tip of one of the mediwix’s wand.

“What is going on!?” Sirius barked, making to step further into the room as one of the security-wix stepped in front of him.

“You can’t be here.” They stated simply; gesturing towards the door as if that would simply be the end of it.

“Would you fucker’s stop trying to tell me that!?” He all but bellowed before shoving past him to grab - rather roughly, looking back at it now - the one mediwitch he was familiar with who turned towards him with a look akin to relief. 

“What is going on?” He tried again.

“She’s hallucinating; woke up screeching that there was a basilisk in the room trying to kill her. When we tried to offer her a calming draught, she started accusing us all of trying to poison her."

"And you're...?" Sirius started bemusedly. "Firing hexes at her?"

"Mr. Black-"

“Don’t call me that.”

“She needs to be stupefied.”

“The last thing she needs is more violence.” He growled in response before shoving past her and pointing his back to the four wands still aimed at you.

“Hey, baby hey. Hey hey hey, whoa, whoa.” Sirius started as he crouched down in front of you, listening to the way your shrieks and wails quieted to pitiful hiccups and sobs. “Hey, doll; hey. Easy, love, come now.”

“St- Stop, no.” You shook your head, eyes glued to a point across the room. “Stay… stay away from me.”

“It’s me, doll. It’s me; it’s Sirius, yeah? Come on, babygirl, look at me.”

"No..."

"It's me, doll." He repeated.

“Sirius.” You keened as he took your face between his hands; tears pouring a steady stream over the apples of your cheeks as you kept your gaze locked on an invisible threat that only you could see. 

You didn’t pull away from his grasp, though; trembling hands landing near gently around his wrists. Your knuckles were close to white as the joints threatened to push through the dry and cracked skin of your hands even though your grip never strengthened on him. 

Sirius’ heart ached for you. 

“Look at me, baby. Come on.”

“I’m scared.” You whispered; breath hitching as you managed to make the briefest eye contact with your boyfriend before your eyes darted back to the corner of your room. 

“I know, love. I know.” Sirius agreed, moving to his knees and tucking his feet underneath him before pressing his forehead to yours; his thumbs sweeping methodically over the highs of your cheeks as he kept his gaze on you. “I know; it’s okay.”

“But the-”

“It’s okay; just look at me until it goes away, okay?” 

Sirius’ heart didn’t return to its normal cadence until your blinks started to slow - time stretching between each heavy blink - as you tried your best to keep your gaze dutifully on Sirius. 

“Why don’t we get you to bed, hm?” Sirius whispered after a period of time, feeling wretched at the way your body tensed and your eyes started darting around again.

“But, the-”

“Can you still see it, dolly?” He asked kindly, quietly; allowing you some space to crane your head and get a good lay of the room that saw only one mediwix and one security personnel present after the ordeal. 

“Uhm,” you let out with a nervous woosh, breaths threatening to speed back up at having lost track of your threat, “no…no, but…”

“Let’s get you to bed, and I’ll keep watch, okay?” He offered, beginning to stand before you had a chance to think too hard on his offer as you obliged Sirius, allowing him to guide you to your hospital bed. 

Sirius was just pulling the thin blanket over your form when you grabbed him by the wrist. 

“Will you stay with me?” You blurted, turning bashful as you added a timid “Please?”

“Of course, my love.” He agreed quickly, shucking off his boots and sliding under the thin sheets beside you. “How else would I keep watch, hm?”

And if the mediwix took issue with Sirius being there, they didn’t dare mention it; quietly working around the two figures in the bed as they cleaned up the various pieces of furniture you’d used to defend yourself whilst Sirius kept watch for any threats - visible or invisible, real or imagined - that might deign to disturb your peace.