#living weapon caretaker

[whumpdaydreamerx]

Caretaker rescuing Whumpee from being tortured/experimented on. Caretaker being non-human and meant to be in Whumpee’s place is pissed. Usually Whumpee tries to keep Caretaker from using violence. But this time? This time is different.

After releasing Whumpee, Caretaker can sense the shift. Keeping an eye on Whumpee’s face as if awaiting instructions. Without needing clarification, Caretaker moves immediately when their Whumpee looks to them with a simple, “do it.”

[iwritewhump]

"I don't want to hear it"

april is the cruelest month day 3

characters: living weapon, villain, hero

warnings: cursing, blood

892 words

part one

~

Hero throws Living Weapon in her room and slams the door behind himself, still dragging Villain by the collar. The metal pipe slams down in front of her door. Living Weapon crawls to the door and scratches at it, clawing at the handle and begging him to let her out. 

“Please Hero! I swear I’ll never go against you ever again! I swear to fucking god!” She wails, trying to drown out Villain’s sobs and screams on the other side of the door. 

Her voice goes hoarse as sobs wrack through her body. 

She throws herself against the door and the hinges groan, but the bolt on the outside of the door doesn’t give. “Hero please! For fucks sake, you’re going to kill him!” She howls. 

Slowly, she lets off the door and kneels in front of it, head resting against the cool wood of it. She ducks slightly lower and looks out of the letter-plate Hero had cut into the door to deliver her meals. 

Hero’s back faces her and she stares at Villain. He’s slumped forward, eyes barely open and a slow but steady stream of blood falls from the corner of his mouth. 

Living Weapon exhales shakily and pounds on the door, “Hero!” she shouts, putting her cheek to the wood. “Please. Let him go.” 

He turns slowly and walks up to the door. After a moment of silence, he lifts the metal pipe and unlocks the deadbolt. The door opens slowly and Living Weapon stands up. 

She bows her head in front of Hero and stares at the ground. 

He takes her by the arm and walks her over to Villain. 

His chest rattles with every breath. 

“Villain…” she starts. “I-” 

“Shhh,” Hero warns. “I don’t want to hear it. Take him to your room.” 

He lets go of her and stands next to the door. 

Living Weapon squats down in front of Villain and lifts his head up with her thumb. He mumbles softly and tears fall from his eyes. 

“Hey,” she coos, “Let’s get up, yeah? I’ve got a nice bed you can crash on.” 

She pulls him up and wraps an arm around his waist. She pulls his arm over her shoulders and starts walking to the door. 

Ten steps takes eternity and by the end of it, there’s a trail of bloody footprints from the chair to the door. Living Weapon carries the majority of Villain’s weight as he stumbles along next to her. She lays him down on the bed and turns to Hero. 

“Can we have some water, please?” She looks over her shoulder at Villain, curled into himself and then back at Hero. “I don’t think he’ll make it through the night without some.” 

Hero tilts his head from side to side and makes noises of contemplation. Tears run down Living Weapon’s face and she inhales shakily. 

“Please…” she says mournfully, “Give me something to help keep him alive.” 

Hero slams the door in her face and the metal bar slams down in its place. Living Weapon covers her mouth with her hand and falls back against the door. She slides down it and leans her head back against it. 

Villain moans on the bed and Living Weapon jumps to attention. She pushes herself to her feet and stands next to the bed, hands hovering over Villain. 

“What am I supposed to do!?” she asks. “I’ve never…I don’t know how to save someone’s life.” 

The letter-plate squeals open and two plastic water bottles drop in through it, rolling along the floor until they bump against Living Weapon’s leg. 

She picks one off from the floor and twists the cap off. Her other hand slides underneath Villain’s back and lifts him up a little bit. 

He soughs, but lets her. 

“Take a drink, Villain. It should help.” 

She tips the bottle against his mouth and the liquid pours. It fills his mouth and starts to fall out the sides of his mouth as he coughs. The liquid goes everywhere and Living Weapon pulls the bottle away from his mouth. 

“I’m sorry,” Villain moans, pain wrecking through his voice. “Please, I’m sorry.” 

Living Weapon takes a deep breath and shakes her head, “It’s fine. Let’s try again, yeah?” 

Slowly, she puts the mouth of the bottle against his lips and tilts it back, allowing a small stream of water to pour into his mouth. He closes his eyes and Living Weapon pulls the bottle away from him as he swallows. 

He coughs, but the water stays down. He opens his mouth again and Living Weapon puts the bottle to his lips again. 

She watches as his swallows slowly get more painful and he’s less keen to drink, but she continues to pour the liquid into his mouth until the bottle is empty. She crumples it in her hands and screws the cap back on. 

Tossing it over her shoulder, she looks at the other bottle on the ground and leaves it there. She climbs into the bed and lays an arm over Villain’s waist. 

“Is this okay?” she asks, curling up against him. 

He takes her hand in his and intertwines their fingers. Squeezing his hand, Living Weapon closes her eyes and rests her head on his chest. She listens to his heartbeat, weak though it is, and falls into an unsteady sleep. 

[floral-comet-whump]

"No- I still have magic! Caretaker doesn't have to do it, I can complete the mission-" + lw caretaker

LW CARETAKER??? woa..... thoughts about this under the cut.......

1. “No. I’ll do it.”

2. “...thank you.”

3. “It’s okay, Whumpee. I want to do this.”

4. “You’re so... sweet. But it really is best for me to do this. Still. Thanks for worrying.”

5. “Enough. You’re not working yourself to the bone again.”

how to play

full credits to @/seth-whumps for the idea!! avoiding actually mentioning them to avoid spamming notifs, but they're linked

THIS IS AN AWESOME IDEA???? also how tf does it work. is this like. a lw whumpee turned caretaker situation?? that was my first conclusion. but I can also imagine a pair of living weapons in a team where one takes the role of a caretaker sorta! oooo but also a caretaker to a lw... also in a team.... hm ideas ideas

[bltzgore]

@catnykit

.... why can't we have both? 😈

My favorite kind of caretaker, in fact. One with the guardian instinct, and then the raw POWER to back it up.

Some ideas:

- when whumpee is at the bottom of the food chain in a prison, or a lab, or gladiator ring. They get picked on by everyone. Broken bones on a weekly basis, and no where near enough food. Then they endear themselves to caretaker, and suddenly things change. One of whumpee's whumpers goes after them like usual and caretaker thrashes them immediately. Beats them half to death and announces to the rest of the occupants that they showed a good deal of restraint. Anyone to make a move against whumpee will face far worse.

- whumpee pleading with caretaker not to kill someone.

- whumpee being the only one who can calm caretaker down.

- "Lay a finger on them and I will take your arm off."

- "So whumpee, you've got yourself a dog."

- "What a monster."

- angst: whumpee comes sobbing to caretaker after being attacked and instead of stopping to comfort whumpee they rush off to go hunting for the perpetrator.

- coup de gras: the freeze of caretaker's blood when they hear whumpee scream (or scream their name.) And the storm that arrives when they reach them.

- caretaker's wrath makes the earth shake ♥️

Mood music

[teine-mallaichte]

Day 3 @whumpmasinjuly-archive : "I deserved it"

Characters: Asset 84 and Asset 83

83 finds 84 after a "correction".

CW: conditioning, living weapons, injuries, punishment.

Asset 84 masterlist

Complex 27 masterlist

It was a few hours since 83 had last seen 84, they weren't sure if the details but they knew the other asset had been taken to Sergeant Munroe to be punished - and the fact that they were not back yet meant it must have been a serious punishment. Not that this was surprising, Colonel Carter, 84s handler, was particularly harsh and often had the Sergeant punish 84 for this that other assets got away with.

Concern gnawed at 83 as they walked down the corridor towards the labs. It was likely that 84 was in the medical wing or the recovery room. They couldn't possibly still be undergoing punishment… could they? No one, not even an asset, could endure that for so long. The thought made 83 quicken their pace.

Showing concern for another asset could be dangerous. It was vital that no one realized they were worried about 84’s welfare. As 83 approached the labs, they scanned the area. No one seemed to notice them as they moved silently through the halls. The security was tight, but stealth and subterfuge were part of 83’s training - a part the facility probably never thought 83 would use in this way.

83’s breath caught as they saw 84 slumped against the wall in the corridor, the usually composed and unyielding asset now reduced to a trembling figure, blood seaping through the back of their grey jumpsuit. 83 hesitated for a moment, scanning for any prying eyes before they hurried to 84's side, their heart pounding.

84's breathing was shallow and labored. With every inhale, their shoulders quivered slightly, the rhythm of their breath uneven and jagged. When 83 reached them, 84's head lolled slightly, eyes half-closed as if trying to escape the pain.

"84," 83 whispered urgently, crouching beside them and gently placing a hand on their shoulder. The skin beneath their fingers was hot and clammy, slick with sweat and blood. 84 flinched at the touch, a low, strained sound escaping their lips—a sound more primal than anything the facility’s rigorous training could stifle.

84’s eyes fluttered open, grey eyes glazed with pain. They blinked slowly, focusing on 83’s face, a faint recognition flickering in their expression.

"83?" 84 rasped, "You should not be here."

83 ignored the warning, instead they gently touched 84's shoulder, feeling the tension and pain radiating from their body.

"What did they do to you?" 83 asked softly.

84's gaze flickered toward 83, the usual sharpness in their grey eyes now clouded with agony. The muscles in their back twitched involuntarily, and their breath hitched as they attempted to speak through clenched teeth. "It is nothing," they managed, though their voice cracked and faltered. "I deserved it."

Despite the words, 83 could see the truth in 84's pained expression and the trembling that seemed to seep into their very bones. They could feel the heat radiating from 84’s body, the blood seeping through the torn fabric of their jumpsuit, slowly darkening the material and leaving a trail of evidence to the brutal reality of their treatment.

"Can you walk?" 83 asked, their concern barely masked by their calm tone.

84’s gaze dropped, the effort of lifting their head seeming monumental. They tried to push themselves up, but their limbs trembled uncontrollably, and they collapsed back against the wall, a ragged sigh escaping them. “I can manage,” they murmured, but the words were hollow.

83 glanced around once more to ensure no one was watching before slipping an arm around 84’s waist, gently helping them to their feet. “Come on,” 83 said softly, guiding them down the corridor.

As they began moving, each step was labored; 84's body swayed slightly, and their movements were sluggish, as if their very bones were weighed down by the pain.

They made their way to the medical wing with 83’s support, every step eliciting a grimace from 84. When they reached the door, 83 hesitated before pushing it open, the sterile smell of antiseptic hitting them like a cold wave. Inside, the room was empty, save for the cold, harsh lights that illuminated the clinical surroundings.

Gently, 83 guided 84 onto a bed, avoiding direct contact with their back as they eased them onto their stomach. The back of 84’s jumpsuit was peeled away to reveal a latticework of angry welts, each one a deep shade of red and purple. Some had split open, forming small pools of blood that slowly trickled down, leaving streaks of crimson on the bed.

84’s breath came in ragged gasps, their entire body trembling with the effort to remain still. Their eyes, normally sharp and unwavering, were now dulled with pain and exhaustion. Despite their insistence that they deserved the punishment, their physical state spoke volumes about the severity of their ordeal.

“what happened?” 83 asked quietly, as they carefully inspected the damage.

84’s eyes flickered with confusion. “it is nothing,” they repeated, “I deserved it."

"No, this isn’t nothing," 83 insisted softly, their frustration barely masked, "This is beyond what is reasonable."

84’s eyes closed momentarily, struggling to maintain composure. "I failed," they murmured, their voice wavering. "Failure... brings consequence."

83’s expression hardened with anger. "We are more than weapons. You’re worth more than this."

"I failed," 84 repeated, "a lesson in endurance was... Nessecary,"

83’s frustration flared. “We’re more than just weapons, 84.”

84 looked at 83, their gaze tired but firm. “You should not say things like that.”

83 glanced around to confirm their solitude. “But it’s true,” they said fiercely. “We are more than weapons.”

84’s head hung low, a shudder running through them. “We obey,” they whispered. “We endure. It is our purpose.”

[snakebites-and-ink]

Former living weapon absolutely dominating at laser tag

[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.

[defire]

Post-whump recovery (living weapon)

Content: Injury whump, apologetic, defiant, and stoic survivors, ptsd

"Why are you limping?" "Sorry, I'll stop."

Caretaker walks in on survivor pasting bandaids onto huge, infected cuts.

"I'm so sorry--I'm sorry--I didn't mean to waste them,"

Or just "Do you have any like, duct tape, my tendon got nicked and I--"

Hiding wound and turning away from caretaker "You can't have it back--it's all bloody now! I claimed it. Hah!"

Every "thank you" is so apologetic it makes caretaker cringe.

"I'll protect you." Survivor straightens and grabs the nearest object as a weapon.

"Ah--fuck, don't grab me there!" "Whumpee did you... is that a cut inside your wrist?"

Caretaker hears whumpee making pain noises in their sleep, whimpering "I tried, I tried..."

[lumpywhump]

Tw: noncon drugging

Living weapon A meeting living weapon B.

In A's eyes are a bone-deep tiredness that can only been noticed by another weapon.

A and B waiting for medical attention after an intense mission. Them lying against each other, one trying not to fall asleep, the other trying not to cry.

A and B forming a silent bond after their handlers working together for a long time. And A finds out that B and their handler had left. Trying to control their emotions when they realize they never got to say goodbye.

A waking to B's screams every night, knowing that they're not allowed to help B. Some nights it's worth the resulting punishments.

A having to watch B being drugged and delirious from a punishment. Watching B's cries while knowing that their handlers are watching them. A getting beaten for sobbing when B cries out for them.

A and B constantly having to preform emergency medical treatments on each other. Not having the proper tools and their only experience with it was when a doctor did it to them.

A and B sharing a room and staying up late together while trying to deal with their trauma.

Handler swap!? It's just a chill training day and the handlers decide to swap weapons for a day, see how it goes! They definitely wont come crawling back to their old handler begging them not to give them to the other handler. And both weapons apologizing for how awful their handlers are.

A and B are always given their meals together. A is always still hungry and B always gets full quickly. Sharing is caring after all!

A being extremely broken and B still being a defiant asshole. A watching B get slapped around for their sarcasm and begging for B to stop. A trying to teach B what to do and what not to do and helplessly watching as B breaks all the rules. A fearing that they might get punished for to being able to keep B in check. Eventually, A planning an escape attempt and inviting B with them. Their heart breaks as head B's refusal. "No, there's no point, we're just weapons,"

B preventing A from picking at their healing wounds.

A and B are together 24/7, they don't have anything else to talk about, they just enjoy the other's silent presence.

The pair planning an escape attempt.

The pair being separated when their handlers catch them.

"My weapon has never acted like this! Yours is a bad influence!" "No! Mines never had any feelings or wants till yours came around and ruined them!"

Because A and B are always together, they catch the same illness and are useless until they recover.

A and B curling up in the same bed "for warmth." That's what they'll tell their handlers at least...

[whump-galaxy]

Been thinking of a Living Weapon Whumpee that’s spent most of their childhood training, fighting, and surviving. The caretaker that saves them has a child of their own, and hopes that the whumpee can learn to live a more normal life. Have more fun, be a kid for once.

The caretaker also hopes that their house isn’t turned into a war zone overnight with this decision, but its baby steps for now.

[whumppromptoftheday]

living weapon who doesn't speak, handler beat it out of them. when caretaker frees living weapon of handler, they try everything to get them to talk.

[hurtwithallthecomfort]

Whumper had been wronged. Badly. Betrayed by an ally, captured, left for dead. When they got out, barely alive, they were beyond furious, and they wanted nothing but revenge. And so, once they recovered, they would go out to bring justice to the person who hurt them so horrifically: Whumpee.

Problem is, Whumpee didn’t actually do anything. They might have been framed, or happened to be in the wrong place. Or, maybe they did hurt Whumper, but they were being brainwashed, manipulated, or forced and threatened into it. Either way, Whumper’s going after the wrong person here, but they can’t say anything about it. Perhaps they’re protecting the real culprit, perhaps Whumper won’t let them speak, or perhaps they think they deserve it despite the circumstances. So, the suffering continues on, for an agonisingly long time.

And then, Whumper realises the truth. They find the real culprit, find some evidence that proves Whumpee’s innocence, or find proof of what happened to Whumpee before. And they’re sick to their stomach. Nausea doesn’t even describe it. Everything they had done was to an innocent bystander at best, and another victim of the real traitor at worst.

[rosieposey-torturedpoet]

Okay, so this is really random: but I see a lot of like 'inexperienced' Whumpees who are the weakest/youngest out of the group

But like what if the youngest is the one everyone fears, I mean they're in the group for a reason

Picture this very specific scenario: The team is captured by Whumper and they are all taken to the same room, chained up to keep them from running or trying anything: and here comes Whumpee (a teenager that's like half the size of everyone in the room) with these insanely complicated locks, maybe they're wearing a straight jacket, with multiple guards while the rest of the team got one or two

Because if you think about it, younger people would have to work harder to prove their strength and 'worth' to the team. There has to be a reason for them to stay on the team

However my personal favorite of this trope is that the youngest is just so unpredictable; not only are they talented/wise beyond their years but you truly never know what they'll do next with all the talent they harbor

Maybe Whumper hates them because at least he can fall into this rythme with the rest of the team and learn their habits: but he physically can't do that for youngest because there is no routine or habit to fall back onto

Maybe they mastered a rare magic form at a young age, or were trained as a soldier

Then think of the CARETAKING OPPROTUNITIES?? A parental Caretaker that shows Whumpee what it's like to be a kid, who worry about they're little reckless living death wish 24/7, and give them a mom/dad that they deserve

I just love young, anti-hero, vigilante Whumpees who have seen so much and learned so many things at such a young age, to the point where they are constantly on the verge of villain because of their genuine desensitization to it all

Which causes everyone to be at least a little afraid of youngest, in some sense of the word

[teine-mallaichte]

Day 5 @augusnippets : prompt - concussed caretaking

83 is injured during a mission, leaving 84 questioning their own actions.

CW: living weapon, conussion.

Asset 84 Masterlist

The mission had been successful - technically - butnot without complications.

Protocol dictated that odds - like 83 - shouldn’t get injured. Even-numbered assets were the ones expected to endure pain and function through it, evens were meant to take the hits, protect the odds. Only the odds got in depth medical training. Everything about this was backwards. The oversight in protocol felt suddenly glaring, but questioning the system was risky.

There had been an explosion, 83 had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, their body thrown a significant distance across the compound. Protocols stated 84 should have left them there - the assets were not meant to actually care about each other and the mission took priority. But 84 had broken that protocol - an act that would surely be punished later - carrying 83 away from the chaos and getting them both to the extraction point

But… Now what?

Crouching down, they examined 83’s pale face. "83?" They shook the other asset slightly, hoping to get a reaction. "83?"

83 sat slumped against a tree, their eyes fluttering but failing to focus, occasional groans escaping their lips.

"83?" 84 tried again, shaking them gently but firmly.

"Alex?" 83 slurred, their eyes finally opening fully.

84 suppressed a flinch at the use of their old name. They were usually careful to only use designations in any situation where they may be seen out overheard.

Sam’s eyes were clouded and unfocused. “Alex?” they mumbled, their speech slurred.

"83… Can you tell me your symptoms?" 84 asked, trying to keep their voice steady despite the urgency in their tone.

Sam blinked slowly. “Head… hurts. Dizziness…”

84 nodded. They knew in theory what a concussion was, and that seemed to fit. Their hand shook slightly as they unclipped the small first aid kit from their belt—unsure exactly what they were going to do but feeling the need to do something. This situation was far outside their training, and even in their usual interactions, 83 had always been the one in control. 84 had been conditioned to be a flawless, unfeeling weapon; not to provide care or comfort.

Taking a deep breath, 84 tried to refocus on what they could do rather than their own discomfort or confusion. Their training had never prepared them for this, but they had to act. They remembered the basic principles: keep the injured person still, monitor symptoms, and avoid anything that might exacerbate the condition.

A crackle from the radio startled them. “status report.”

Torn between reporting and caring for Sam, 84 forced their voice to stay steady. “Asset 84 reporting. Asset 83 is injured, possibly concussed. Need immediate medical support.”

“Acknowledged. Medical team en route. ETA 15 minutes.”

84 turned their attention back to 83, who was now groaning softly, their head lolling to one side.

"Understood," they stated into the radio.

84 turned back to Sam, who groaned softly, head lolling. They removed their jacket and fashioned a makeshift pillow. “Stay with me, Sam,” 84 said softly, their voice revealing an edge of concern.

Sam’s eyes struggled to stay open. “Alex… sorry. Didn’t mean to… ruin mission.”

84’s hand trembled, nearly dropping the first aid kit. “You… Your stability is the priority right now.”

Sam chuckled weakly, wincing in pain. “Never thought… If hear you say something like that.”

84’s heart pounded. This was new - caring, showing empathy - it was against protocol, against the rules. But with Sam’s frail form before them, the rules felt different.

“There is no protocol for this," 84 muttered, "Just… stay awake,” they instructed, trying to maintain composure.

The radio crackled again, “Asset 84, confirm status.”

“Asset 83 is… stable." 84 responded.

“Understood. We’re prioritizing extraction. ETA on medical is 5 minutes.”

84 crouched beside Sam, their hands trembling slightly. Sam’s breathing grew erratic, their head lolling with increasing frequency. Each groan and half-conscious mumble sent a fresh wave of panic through 84. The distant hum of the approaching medical team seemed to waver, their arrival feeling like a cruel joke as time dragged on

“83… Sam, focus on me,” 84 urged softly. “You need to stay awake."

Sam’s eyes fluttered open. “You… you have never… been worried before," they murmured as their eyes drifted shut again, "it is nice.”

“Stay awake,” 84 repeated, their voice trembling with an emotion they could not name.

Sam's eyes fluttered open again, their focus wavering. "Trying but… Trying… Alex… where are we?"

"The medics will be here soon," 84 tried to sound reassuring, unsure what else to do or say.

An engine noise slowly grew louder until the medical team's vehicle finally came into view. 84’s heart raced, a mix of relief and tension as the vehicle skidded to a stop. The medical team rushed out, carrying equipment and hurrying towards the scene.

“Asset 83 down!” one of the medics shouted as they approached, quickly assessing the situation.

84 stepped back, their eyes never leaving Sam. These feelings - this concern, the way their heart pounded and hands shook - they were foreign, forbidden. Emotions were not meant to cloud their judgment. They were designed to be perfect, unfeeling weapons, executing missions with precision and detachment.

Yet here they were, heart pounding, hands trembling, overcome with worry for Sam. The confusion swirled in their mind, a torrent of thoughts questioning their own nature and purpose. Were they experiencing a malfunction? Had something within them broken? They had always been taught that emotions were a sign of weakness, a flaw in the system. Caring for another asset was not just against protocol; it was unthinkable.

Were they defective?

[caretaker-lee]

Everything has needs

(Almost made myself cry coming up with this.)

I got the idea for this from here

(Hopefully, the link works)

"I have no wants or needs. I am at your liberty."

Whumpee knelt on the floor, and Caretaker looked at them dumbfoundedly.

"No needs? Of course you do. Everyone does."

"I do not."

"But . . . you must. Everyone does. Everything does!"

Whumpee stayed still. "I do not."

"But you must!" Caretaker raised their voice only a little bit before lowering it again. "Everything has some needs. Even animals need to be fed and played with. Even plants need sunshine and water."

"I . . . do not." Whumpee lowered their voice. Caretaker ignored their comment.

"Even stuffed animals need to be snuggled and hugged! Even books need to be read and repaired!"

"I . . . ." The words died on whumpee's tongue, and they began to tear up.

"Even the lamps need their light bulbs changed! E-even the vacuum needs to be e-emptied!" Caretaker began tearing up with whumpee, but their voice began to get louder. "Even the clothes need to be cleaned! Even the dishes need to be washed! Even the shelves need to be dusted! And you!"

Caretaker paused and lowered their voice once again. Whumpee was silently sobbing. "You need to be loved."

Caretaker knelt in front of whumpee and pulled them gently into a hug. "I can do that for you," Caretaker whispered, and they both openly wept on the floor.

[whumporama]

A trope I love is the moment Caretaker just goes 'Damn it'

That moment Whumpee says/does something that makes Caretaker realize just how fucked up Whumpee's life has been. Maybe they tried to hate Whumpee, maybe Whumpee was their enemy, and now they have to realize Whumpee isn't just an evil, soulless killer. But instead, someone who has been hurt just as much as they were.

Just that moment, maybe Whumpee is confused by a normal concept, doesn't know what something is, because they've never had it. Maybe they say something about their own body, that's 'normal' (hint: it's not. It's really not).

("Do you need a painkiller?"

"A what?")

And they know Whumpee isn't trying to manipulate them. They're just... confused. This is normal to them.

And just... damn it.

What did they do to you?