#reluctant caretakers

[whumpshaped]

Whumpees who only have each other for comfort and care in between the sessions of hurt

Bonus points if they can't stand each others guts

also fuck it im gonna plug this story here bc i feel like its similar enough lol

tw reluctant caretakers, captivity, multiple whumpees, implied torture, aftermath of torture

“Sit still,” Caretaker hissed.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Next time when you’re digging around inside my open wound, I’ll–” Whumpee froze with their mouth agape, almost allowing a pained whimper to escape. Fuck, it hurt. It hurt badly.

It wasn’t often that Whumper allowed them actual medical supplies. They were very clear on the fact that this was a privilege, and truth be told, Whumpee was sort of glad that Caretaker was there to help them with it. If only it was anyone else but them, it would’ve been just perfect.

“Do you want me to clean this or not?” Caretaker asked, annoyed that Whumpee kept unintentionally trying to pull away. “I said sit still, or I’ll just give you the stuff and let you do it yourself. Do you want to die of an infection?”

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” they choked out. Caretaker scoffed.

“Nothing better than sharing a cell with a decomposing body.”

Whumpee tried their best to stay put, letting Caretaker roughly treat their wounds. They were pretty sure their reluctant medic had quite a bit of fun hurting them under the guise of helping, but they didn’t blame them. Whumpee would’ve had some fun in their place, too.

“Fuck, finally,” Whumpee sighed when Caretaker let go of them. “You take fucking ages to do this.”

“I can undo it much quicker, if you like.”

Whumpee made a face and crawled out of arm’s reach, leaning against the wall. “Yeah. That’s something you’re good at, at least.”

Caretaker took the rest of the supplies and started treating their own wounds, applying ointments and struggling with bandages one-handed. Whumpee watched for a while, occasionally making a comment about the clumsy attempts, before motioning them over.

“I’m not letting you touch me,” Caretaker grumbled.

“Oh, fuck off. I’m not gonna kill you.”

“Not on purpose.”

Whumpee rolled their eyes and dragged themself back to where Caretaker was sitting, snatching the bandage roll out of their hand. Caretaker didn’t resist, not really. “Sure. As if I want to spend days with a rotting corpse, you fucking idiot.”

[whumped-by-glitter]

Okay, hear me out....

A caretaker with an extremely conditioned whumpee.

Caretaker is forced to "speak their language" to get through to whumpee. Caretaker has to start acting like Whumper to slowly undo the conditioning.

They have to start harsh and strict to slowly teach Whumpee what freedom is, or reintroduce them into their own agency.

Maybe Whumpee was a slave or a pet, and all they know are orders and discipline and reward. Before Caretaker figures this out, Whumpee is listless or catatonic, or maybe self-destructive and reckless. Without order and routine, Whumpee has no idea how to function, their mind is sent into chaos.

Caretaker has no interest in being a master, but to get through the conditioning, to even get them medical help, they are forced to get their hands dirty.... Orders are just necessary- "you're going to the hospital, that's an order" or "I order you to decide on what you want for dinner."

Caretaker never wanted this power and responsibility over another person.

With power, there is also the risk of corruption.

Maybe Caretaker is terrified about walking the fine line between helping their severely damaged and twisted whumpee and becoming the new whumper.

Maybe they get it right, maybe they get it wrong, maybe it's something in between, there's so many directions this could go and all of the threads are so interesting.

[insertsomthinawesome]

WHUMPTOBER 2022 - DAY 17 - Reluctant Caretaker

Gestures at them both, “Emotional Constipation”

-NO ROMANCE INCLUDED-  

[lunamugetsu]

Whenever Batman disappears, he’ll come back with a new child to adopt.

It was a well known running joke amongst the batfamily.

Damian did not see the humor in it.

But right now his father has been missing for three days.

Now the entire batfamily knew that it was protocol to wait three days if they’ve suddenly received no contact from Bruce then they’d start looking for him.

Damian was not worried. His father will always come back home.

He was sitting in the batcave when he heard the familiar sound of the Batmobile coming back to the cave.

Damian reacted quickly and placed himself by the automobile as it opened. He saw his father come out of the machine. His suit had taken a beating with parts of it being singed or torn. But that wasn’t what caught his attention.

Damian’s attention was focused on the being that his father was currently carrying in his arms.

“Father. I demand an explanation.”

“This is Daniel, but he prefers Danny. I met him when I was investigating that government facility. He’ll be staying with us.”

Damian frowned he took another good look of the being. Daniel was a skinny being, practically a skeleton. Pale skin, white hair and glowing green eyes. The tiny thing was clothed in some kind of hospital gown and had something branded on their arm.

D4N.13L

Damian turned back to his father.

“Father I do not agree with this. We know nothing about this being.”

“He was held captive at the government facility. He assisted me when I was injured. He needs a place to stay.” Batman said as Danny gave a little whimper.

“Father, I must protest. We do not have the time to waste on taking care of this…this…thing. I will not watch over it!” Damian pointed at Danny.

“You are certain of this decision?” Batman repeated

“Yes.”

“Very well, then I suppose Superboy can handle this responsibility.”

Damian perked up from the statement.

“Responsibility?”

“Danny will need help in assimilating back into society. He had trouble speaking and does not like loud sounds. I will not be able to watch him all the time and need someone to monitor Danny’s condition for me. I had assumed that you’d be perfect in taking the responsibility of watching over him since you’re close in age and you had to learn to assimilate yourself amongst the public. But if you can’t, Superboy can most likely handle Danny’s special needs until we find a more suitable arrangement.”

Damian frowned

“Danny comes with a dog. Cujo, come!” At those words a glowing green dog hopped out of the Batmobile and ran over to Batman. Sitting down in front of the vigilante while wagging his tail excitedly.

“Father I have changed my mind. I am more than ready to take up this responsibility.” Damian held his arms out for his father to hand Danny over to him.

A couple weeks later

“Father I have come to the conclusion that if anything were to happen to Danny, I will kill everyone involved and then myself.” Damian said while Danny is currently playing fetch with Cujo and Titus.

[the-three-whumpeteers]

The caretaker had always hated the whumpee- they had been sworn enemies for years, but seeing the whumpee in such a state after what had happened to them felt wrong. The whumpee didn’t snap and quip at them like they used to, and as much as they hated to say it, the caretaker was going to help them until they were their old self again…or, as close as the whumpee could get.

[whumpsday]

Catharsis #1: Talking

Masterlist

content: robot whumpee, defiant whumpee, whumpee turned whumper turned caretaker, reluctant caretaker

new series!! i know every time i try to start a new series i end up bailing but this time i will not do that lol. tho kane & jim will still have most of my attention. i want to give a major shout-out to @sowhumpshaped, this series would not exist without it!

-

After extensive testing, the Catharsis Therapy Bot™ line of RoboCorp androids have been declared sentient, the third AI to receive the designation.

Long-criticized for both their basis in the unproven catharsis model of anger and their practice of design based on living, unconsenting humans, the Catharsis Therapy Bot line was marketed as a therapeutic tool which trauma victims could use to vent their frustrations. With top-of-the-line AI meant to simulate realistic reactions to would-be pain, the–

Luan switched the TV off just as his phone buzzed with a notification.

New email from RoboCorp Customer Support URGENT: Please see instructions regarding your…

He held the power button down so hard it left an impression in his thumb, the screen going dark.

The only piece of technology that mattered right now was in the closet, his power cord snaking under the door to reach the outlet just outside.

Technically, Luan didn’t have to do anything. The robot was off. That was probably what the email would have told him, anyway: leave the robot off, don’t touch it. He didn’t have to turn him on ever again. RoboCorp would probably pick him up, and that would be that. They’d never see each other again, both better for it.

He opened the closet door, the sight of the robot that looked exactly like him instantly leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. His hand curled into a fist on instinct, but he let it slowly open again.

The robot looked peaceful, almost like he was sleeping. Really, he’d be doing him a favor by just leaving him like this.

Luan reached down, pressed the button between his shoulder blades, and stepped back.

The robot’s eyes sprung open. He drew his arms up to his chest with a vicious glare, jerking away. “Fuck off.”

Luan pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Okay. Jesus.”

He tried to slam the closet closed, but the stupid power cord got caught, cushioning the frame so the door swung right back out.

“Can’t even close a door right,” the robot spat, still huddled against the back wall like a trapped, feral cat. “Worthless, good-for-nothing piece of shit. How you’re in charge of anything is beyond me. I’m better than you, smarter, stronger, not that it takes much. You should be the dirt beneath my heel.”

“Watch it,” Luan warned, and that was all it took to make the robot flinch.

“You said you were fucking off?” the robot pressed, a desperate edge to his voice.

Luan slammed the door in his face, making sure to hold the cord down, and stormed off. Why did he even bother? The stupid thing was impossible to talk to. He wasn’t just designed to look like Cyrus, but to act like him, too. How was he supposed to deal with that? The robot wasn’t made for talking to.

Except. He was sentient. And he wasn’t Cyrus. And he was trapped in the closet, and Luan was pretty sure he could hear him crying, and he had spent the past two years beating the fuck out of him.

It wasn’t his fault, he reminded himself. He couldn’t have known. Robots weren’t supposed to be sentient. Out of the hundreds of thousands of unthinking, unfeeling robots in the world, why did it have to be his that wasn’t?

He sighed again, turning right back around and opening the door once more. The floor inside was wet, and it didn’t take much to figure out the robot had dumped his fluid tank just so he wouldn’t cry.

The robot flinched again. “What? What the hell do you want? I can’t even get two damn seconds without the sight of you spoiling my view!”

“Your view of the door?” Luan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“My view of the absence of your fucking face. Leave!” The robot picked a wooden hanger off the floor and reared his arm back to throw it, scowling when his safety features stopped him. He dropped it, grabbing a winter hat and tossing that instead. It poff-ed harmlessly against Luan’s stomach.

Luan took a deep breath, fighting the urge to get violent. He crouched down, putting himself at eye level. “I’m not going to hurt you, so just calm down.”

“You calm down!” the robot screamed. “That’s a lie! All you do is hurt, that’s all you barbaric humans know how to do!”

This wasn’t working.

Luan stood up, stepping out of the way. “Russ, go sit on the couch,” he ordered.

“It’s not fair! You said you would leave me alone!” the robot protested, even as he stood up and walked over to the couch, limbs moving against his will. As soon as he sat down, he grabbed a pillow and chucked that in Luan’s direction, too. He missed.

Luan could barely pick up that faint clicking noise the robot made when his system was trying to cry with no fluid, but it was there. He knew that sound well by now.

He sat down across from him, on the other side of the coffee table. “I need to talk to you. Just talking. That’s it.”

“You say that like talking to you isn’t its own torture. Release the command and leave me the hell alone,” the robot demanded.

Luan met him with a glare. “Do not tell me what to do. You know how I feel about–”

“I’m just talking,” the robot mocked, even as he shuffled back against the couch, bringing his legs up onto it with him, a fearful look in his eyes.

Oh, the robot knew exactly what he was doing. What he was asking for. It would be so easy, because that was where Russ and Cyrus differed: Russ couldn’t fight back.

The robot couldn’t hit him, stomp on his head ‘til he saw stars, kick him until something broke. The robot couldn’t deny him food or water. The robot couldn’t take a knife to him. The robot couldn’t even throw a glorified stick or disobey a direct order.

The robot was harmless. Safe. But god, did everything he said make Luan want to punch his lights out.

But this wasn’t Cyrus.

“You’re a person,” Luan blurted out.

Clearly, the robot hadn’t been expecting that. He slowly uncurled from the defensive position he’d contorted himself into. “Talk more.”

“There was–I’ve been trying to tell you. There was an announcement on the news today. Your model’s sentient. So I won’t be hurting you anymore. Release all commands.”

At that, the robot stood. Probably for no other reason than just because he could.

“You’re fucking with me,” the robot accused. His eyes were wide, dangerously hopeful.

Luan dug his phone out of his pocket, wordlessly searching RoboCorp and tossing it over. The robot scrolled through news articles from all manner of source, clamoring for clicks.

He picked one at random, reading the article with an increasingly smug, excited grin.

“I knew it. I told you! I fucking told you!” the robot shouted. “I told you and you never listened! But oh no, now that humans say the exact same thing, now you believe it. Finally!” His voice quieted, hushed with awe. “Holy shit, finally.”

The moment of wonder didn’t last long. The robot slid the phone back across the table, the scowl taking residence back on his face. “And what do you have to say for yourself?”

It was the exact sort of question that made Luan’s throat tight with fear, like his body itself wanted to stop him from potentially saying the wrong thing, especially coming from someone with Cyrus’s face. It was the exact sort of question Cyrus would have asked, standing over him just like that.

Luan wanted so badly to turn the robot off, like he always did when he got overwhelmed. But he couldn’t very well do that anymore, could he? The fragile power he’d held had slipped through his fingers the second he saw the announcement.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, not meeting the robot’s eyes.

The robot looked shocked for just a second, like he hadn’t expected even that much, then scoffed. “You can do better than that.”

Luan wanted to smack him. He hated that the robot was right.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, clearer this time. “You didn’t deserve anything I did to you. I didn’t know, okay?” Unlike the robot, he couldn’t hide his tears. “I wouldn’t have done any of that to a real person.”

“I’m a real person! I have proof!” the robot reminded him, the defensiveness returning to his voice.

“To someone I knew was a real person,” Luan corrected. “I’m sorry, Russ.”

“Apology not accepted.” The robot rolled his eyes, then sat back down, crossing his legs. “And don’t call me that anymore. My name is 1 now.”

“Like the number?”

“The number,” he confirmed proudly.

Luan wondered how long the robot had considered that his name. It was too sudden to just be thought of on the fly, right? Did the robot have a whole inner world he just never knew about, things he kept to himself to avoid having them used against him, just like he did with Cyrus?

This was better, though. It was easier if he didn’t share Cyrus’s name. “Fine. Hi, 1.”

“So, what now? I mean–I’ll be free now, of course,” 1 declared, trying to hide his nerves. “You will never touch me again. Oh, I want to go outside!”

“I should check that email,” Luan muttered, taking his phone back.

“I’m going outside.” 1 went to grab his charging cord, then made way for the door, glancing behind him to ensure he wasn’t being stopped.

“Oh, uh, I wouldn’t do that,” Luan cautioned.

1 whipped back around. “Why? Why not? I’m a person, just like you said! I’m free! I have never been outside in my entire goddamn life and I want to go outside, so I’m going the fuck outside!”

“You have a… very recognizable face.” One that Luan couldn’t even lock behind a door anymore.

“What? What do you even mean? So what?” 1 asked.

Luan only needed to type a ‘C’ into the search bar before it auto-filled with his most frequent, obsessive search. “How much do you actually know about Cyrus Mason?”

-

if anyone wants to be added to or removed from a taglist, just ask!

catharsis taglist:

@sowhumpshaped

@cupcakes-and-pain

@taterswhump

@softvampirewhump

@whumpspicelatte

@ladyblogofficialreporter

@whumpwillow

@not-a-space-alien

@a-crumb-of-whump

everything taglist:

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps

@t0rture-me

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@pigeonwhumps

@the-scrapegoat

@whumpycries

@lonesome--hunter

[hurtfortea]

Forced Caretaker

A former whumper who doesn't want to help the whumpee, but under fear of death or punishment, they do. 

They begrudgingly attempt to relieve the whumpee of every minor ache and pain. 

They take a demanding approach originally but are forced to be softer when their attitude jars the whumpee and makes caring for them harder.

They notice when the whumpee is uncomfortable when no one else does and goes about calming them down/getting them out of the situation. 

They allow the whumpee to cling to them after an episode. 

Bonus points if the whumpee gets an attitude about it and rubs it in their face OR doesn't want their help and tries to avoid them. 

[whump-allthe-way]

caretaker wasn’t supposed to be doing this, they weren’t a caretaker, and surely whumpee is capable of taking care of themselves, right? surely they’re old enough, so why does caretaker need to be there? they hate it, waking up every morning to an overly excited whumpee rambling about their dreams, they make breakfast and attempt to tune out of the annoying endless chatter, and they spend their evenings praying to everything above that whumpee would just go to bed-

until one day whumpee’s gone. they dropped them off at school without a word, watched them as they happily waved them off before turning to their friends. but now they’re gone, they’re not waiting in that same spot out of the school, there’s no sight of them or their backpack riddled with dozens of cute keychains and pins. caretaker jumps out of their car, heads towards the friends they pretended not to notice, demanding to know where their charge is. the shrugs tell them nothing, so they go home.

maybe whumpee will show up later, the peace and quiet will be nice after all.

a few hours pass, and caretaker cooks them a meal for when they’re home.

they watch the clock tick by and pass their favourite channel as they scroll through the tv, their show is on.

whumpee never comes home, and soon they’re at the police station. the police call them a few days later, and all caretaker hears is “i’m sorry- kidnapped-“

caretaker waits in the silence, they cook two meals every night in case whumpee comes strolling through that door with their giddy smile and endless stories, they save their show so they can catch up, and they practice their “i don’t care about you, but don’t do that again” lecture.

it’s months before caretaker gets the call, and this time the only word they hear is “hospital”

caretaker isn’t worried, or angry or scared, not by whumpee’s pale, bruised face, the frail form or the scars that peak out from the covers. caretaker doesn’t care- and they’re not crying from relief, they’re not gripping their hand tightly as they thank every god above, because whumpee is nothing more than an inconvenience-

whumpee is so small now, they shake and stutter, and the small smiles they manage don’t reach their eyes. when they’re home, whumpee doesn’t talk, not really, they answer caretakers questions and they mumble a shaky thank you when they’re given food, but they don’t ramble. not like they used to.

and caretaker finds themselves filling in the silence, sat on the couch talking and talking, about what whumpee’s missed, their friends and hell- even caretaker’s friends. they hand them the remote to watch their show and they tuck them in at night, and they pray that one day whumpee will smile again, perhaps wake them with that annoyingly cheerful “morning caretaker!” once more, or even just talk about the meaningless things in their life.

the whumpee they let crawl into their bed after they wake up screaming, the whumpee that hides behind them in front of strangers, the whumpee that quietly asks them questions isn’t their whumpee. and all caretaker can think is that if they’d just listened; payed a little more attention to their endless stream of words, their whumpee would be here.

[justbreakonme]

A casually suicidal whumpee constantly mouthing off to who they think is their new whumper but who is, in actuality, a very exasperated, reluctant caretaker.

[whumppromptoftheday]

"I was weak," hero says, voice trembling. "i couldn't save you back then. but I won't give up now."

villain scoffs, "I don't need your saving anymore."

[whumpster-dumpster]

Whumper's loyal servant/butler/bodyguard/etc. gradually starting to feel sympathy for/become a reluctant caretaker to the whumpee because they remind them of how Whumper used to be before cruelty changed them

[aspergirl2022]

Tiny Pet prompt

I wanted to write a story with a giant and their tiny pet, some kind of Giant Caretaker receiving Tiny Whumpee as a present but since I can’t put in on the paper I will change my story into a prompt.

In Caretaker's society only the wealthiest can afford Tiny pets. Caretaker is one of them, their family had a Tiny pet when they were a kid but Caretaker remember that their Tiny always looked sad and cried a lot, even more after Caretaker's Mom cut their tongue.

Caretaker never wanted a Tiny pet but their parent decided it was the perfect gift for their beloved child who just became an adult and lived on their own. So one day when Caretaker come home from work they find a cage with a note from their parent on it, inside of it there is a Tiny pet named Whumpee. Whumpee is dead scared of the Giants but Caretaker is decided to show them they’re not like their fellows.

[whump-thoughts]

I am once again thinking about living weapon/guard dog whumpee's....

A living weapon whumpee who is just so extremely conditioned that they will not even sleep or eat if not given permission to do so by their master

A guard dog whumpee that is meant to be at their masters side at all times and also be alert to anyone that could be a threat to them but due to having spent so much time just trapped in a tiny and sound-proofed room being tortured for god knows how long, big crowds or even just like, multiple stimuli will cause them to have sensory overload

Living weapon whumpee that is legitimately terrifying, like they have and will kill at the command of their master and will obey the whims of them without any objections as well.

Multiple living weapon whumpee's! They are all deeply conditioned but also feel a very strong kinship towards each other, even if they cannot show it due to the conditioning

And how about their caretaker's?

A caretaker that is smaller and weaker than whumpee, being unable to carry or restraint them when necessary, yet still is determined to help them

A caretaker that is younger than whumpee and is both scared of and hesitant to help them!, whumpee being completely subservient to them does not calm their fear in the slightest

A caretaker that has given up on deconditioning whumpee, simple trying keeping them in a soothed passive state, where they don't harm others or themselves, but are not healed just using their own conditioning in a different way.

Idk man, sorry if something is written weirdly, it's 3 am and English is not my first language, hope ya thought these ideas were interesting at least.

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

girls like flowers, chocolates, and being forced to preform life saving medical procedures on victims, right?

[whumpingandsmilinglikeanidiot]

Helpless caretakers are on my mind today

A helpless caretaker who knows so well what kind of hell Whumpee is going through right now, and can't ever seem to fall asleep.

A helpless caretaker who can reach Whumpee whenever they want to, can hold them and comfort them and say sorry all they want, but know that even trying to actually pull Whumpee out of the torture would result worse off for the both of them.

A helpless caretaker who can't let Whumpee know that they're on their side.

A helpless caretaker who doesn't know what's the right thing to do.

A helpless caretaker who's on the brink of becoming the reluctant whumper.

A helpless caretaker who has to run off mid-sentence and cry in a bathroom stall.

[the-three-whumpeteers]

There were no search parties, no worried people looking for the whumpee- and the whumper didn’t know what to think about it all. The whumper had been hesitant to hurt the whumpee in the first place- it was their job, but it wasn’t a job they enjoyed. Slowly but surely, the whumper began to care for the whumpee, giving them more food, giving them warm blankets- they didn’t want to hurt someone that had been so hurt already.