#stranger caretaker

[jordanstrophe]

Caretaker watched the stranger deep asleep on their couch. They had no idea where whumpee came from, only they were on the side of the road in that awful storm. The power was out and they had no way to call for help.

They had wounds that weren't from the storm. They were man made and varied with different tools. It was nothing like caretaker had ever seen before...

Caretaker turned their back to light a candle when they heard a quiet thump behind them. They turned around to find whumpee off the couch against the wall trying to make their way to the door.

"Woah woah woah! You're in no condition to be up like that." Caretaker scolded. Whumpee stopped in their tracks, realizing they weren't alone. They shakily turned around with a wide-frightened gaze. Their knees slowly gave in as they sunk to the floor and stayed frozen.

Caretaker dropped to a crouch, feeling odd standing so tall over them. "I know you're hurt, so let's go back on the couch and see what we can do, okay?"

Whumpee tilted their head towards the door, listening to the crash of lightning and a downpour of rain. "How did you find me?" Whumpee spoke in a whisper.

"Luck." Caretaker shrugged, scooting an inch closer. "Did someone hurt you? Are you in some sort of trouble?" Caretaker asked.

"No." Whumpee spoke shortly. Caretaker knew that was a lie; but if that's what whumpee wanted caretaker to think to be comfortable enough to let them help, then so be it. 

[abhainnwhump]

Caretaker is a new security worker at a prison. They want to help protect the peace. One day, as they're working as nightguard, they lean against a wall, triggering a secret door. They walk inside and find a stairs leading deep underground. Why would this be hidden? Caretaker worries as they walk down, holding a flashlight.

They find a cell at the bottom of the pitch black stair case. Inside, an immortal Whumpee has given up on life. They've been trapped down there for centuries with no light, no food, and no socialization. While they can't die, their body and mind rots away, leaving only a husk of a person. Caretaker has a million questions, but one lingers in their mind.

Should they help them?

[zoethehead]

A whumpee trained as a soldier is injured in battle, and they lay covered in dirt and blood, the hectic warfare surrounding them. Another person was nearby, holding them close, shouting for someone....possibly a medic or the enemy about to take them hostage. They're going in and out of consciousness, unable to breathe as the smoke burnt at their throat and lungs. They passed out, mumbling something as they're dragged away by someone.....

The whumpee expected to be dead, or at least captured by the enemy and left in a cold cell with their wounds poorly treated, but that's not the case....

as the next thing the whumpee knew, they were waking up more cozy than what would've been possible. They opened their less bruised eye to a ceiling, pale grey winter light shining through the window. They feel warmer than what they had imagined, soft pillows nestled against their head, they wearily blinked, groaning as the pain caused by their injuries sparked like a damaged wire plugged in to a socket. They slowly sat up, wincing at the soreness. They looked down, seeing bandages wrapped around their ribs and chest, as well as their arms and thigh. They soon felt someone put their hand on them and lay them back on the bed.

"Not now, son, you're still injured." The caretaker said.

The whumpee obliged; laying down, still exhausted from the whole ordeal, the whumpee rested once more, knowing that they were safe......

[shes-some-other-where]

Rain and Apple Blossoms

[ID: a banner featuring bright red apples, prison bars, and medieval looking text of the story's title, Rain and Apple Blossoms. End ID.]

A nameless convict suffers in a prison camp, sentenced to years of hard labour for his crime. There, he is tormented by cruel guards and an even crueller chief overseer who seems to enjoy humiliating him. Eventually, he escapes, and he finds himself cared for by a kind stranger who is on her own journey of grief and self-discovery. With soldiers still hunting for the fugitive, every moment he spends in his unlikely caretaker's company is a risk to them both.

Heavier on whump than plot. Heavier on hurt than comfort. But it's all there.

Full list of CWs at the bottom of this post.

Written for The Merry Whump of May 2024. All drabbles, exactly 100 words. All connected, but many can be read as standalone pieces. However, if you want to read it as a full "narrative," the suggested reading order is below. (Alternatively, find the list of prompts in event order here.)

Suggested Reading Order

🌫️ The Camp

Day 9 - “You’re nothing.”

Day 27 - C for “convict”

Day 8 - A proud, arrogant fool.

Day 2 - Snake venom and molten sand

Day 2 - “Don’t you dare.”

Day 7 - “Forget about them.”

Day 10 - “I don’t have regrets.”

Day 11 - “Pretty little thing.”

Day 12 - “Let me hear you.”

Day 3 - “See what happens.”

Day 14 - “Leave him alone.”

Day 16 - Your neverending insolence

Day 16 - Twenty-nine and one

Day 16 - “Naïve fool.”

Day 1 - Swallowed by the dark

Day 28 - The indistinct phantoms of nightmares

Day 14/23 - Deserving sinners

Day 5 - The chance to flee

Day 6 - Disobedient dogs who try to run

Day 13 - “To know you'll only fail again.”

Day 8 - “I’m fine.”

🌫️ The Escape

Day 13 - Leave no trail.

Day 7 - The world beyond

Day 6 - A sombre dawn

Day 15 - A fool, a dead man

🌫️ The Cellar

Day 4 - “Who are you?”

Day 15 - “Let me help you.”

Day 17 - “Wait, are you afraid of me?”

Day 24 - “Lean on me.”

Day 23 - Cursed, hunted, condemned

Day 27 - “You’re trembling.”

Day 12 - “I’m dangerous.”

Day 17 - “You’re not a prisoner here.”

Alt Prompt - “No one knows you’re here.”

Day 15 - Her foolhardy selflessness

Day 25 - “Is that wise?”

Day 24 - “Just forget about me.”

Day 30 - “I think you might be a good man.”

Day 29 - “Just another few days.”

Day 15 - Endless pools of sorrow

Day 20 - “Are you alone here?”

Day 24 - “What’s with all the apples?”

Day 13 - “I just wish I could repay you.”

Day 28 - “You've found your smile again.”

Day 25 - “I’ve always loved the rain.”

Day 2 - “What are you doing in my house?”

Day 1 - “What were you thinking?”

Day 18 - “Why do you love him?”

Day 11 - “An arrangement, and nothing more.”

Day 6 - “He would never hurt me.”

🌫️ The Recapture

Day 18 - “Nowhere to run, crook.”

Day 19 - “Rot in hell.”

Alt prompt - “It was her.”

Day 4 - He with no future

Day 20 - “Don’t tell me you forgot about me.”

Day 22 - “It’s been too long.”

Day 22 - A death sentence disguised as mercy.

Day 31 - “Enjoy your last night here.”

Day 31 - “Now you’re a broken man.”

Day 28 - “Hope you enjoyed the last taste of freedom you'll ever have.”

🌫️ The Pits

Day 29 - “You ought to be grovelling at my feet.”

Day 26 - A shambling spectre that once was a man

Day 21 - Leashed, muzzled, and ordered around like a beast

Day 3 - Half-lives in the dust

Day 30 - A creature soft, yet wild

Day 25 - “I’ll always love the rain.”

🌫️ A Free Man

Day 1 - Retribution well-deserved

Day 29 - “You are free.”

Day 29 - Charcoal and silver

Day 26 - Fading stars and blooming sun

Alt prompt - Rain and apple blossoms

Full List of Content Warnings

pain, angst, prison, prison camp, labour camp, forced labour, chains, blood, restraints, cruel law enforcement, branding, taunting, humiliation, physical violence, beatings, very brief minor whump, whipping/flogging, gag/muzzle, exhaustion, thirst/dehydration, mine collapse, minor character death, death mention, failed escape, torture, barbed wire, exposure, guilt, fear, grief, loneliness, prospect of a loveless marriage, betrayal, recapture

[soursagas]

Frost*ೃ༄

draft from july 28th 2022.  posted now.  mdk what the purpose of this was but here we go.

box boy - He/Him, Cesar - He/They

Content: BBU, pet whump, near hypothermia(?), freezing

Cesar froze.

Waiting at their doorstep was a decently sized box, drenched in rainwater. There might even be some ice on the top.

What did I order?

They would’ve stayed in their thoughts, staring at the box, but it was practically starting to hail now. They rushed to unlock the front door and hastily shoved the box indoors.

He threw his wet coat to the side and frantically began opening the box. Cesar let out a gasp at the sight beneath them.

A shivering-soaked little box boy.

He seemed to be trying to position himself a certain way, but could hardly move. Whether it was because of the tight box, or freezing cold, probably both Cesar thought. His mind kept spewing more questions, but he forced them aside, right now his focus was on the little box boy.

“Uh...I’m going to pick you up now?”

The only response was an increase in shallow breaths. Cesar attempted to wrap his arms rather awkwardly around the boy, then moved his arms in several different ways for a few rather embarrassing moments. He settled for a bridal carry, muttering apologies as he tried to make the boy comfortable in his arms.

He considered running a hot bath, but decided against it as the temperature change would likely be too sudden. They set him down against a fluffy couch, then dashed to the bathroom to grab every clean towel they could find. Cesar didn’t know whether to feel relieved or more worried when he found the box boy hadn’t moved at all. They knelt down near his face, several towels at his side.

“So I need to take off your clothes, they’re drenched….I’ll give you some of my clothes but we need to dry you and warm you up.”

This time, the shivering form glanced up at him before quickly averting his gaze. “Do you need help taking off your shirt?” Cesar figured he would, but better to at least ask first, right?

The person shuffled himself into a more upright position—or as much as he could, anyway. His movements were slow with his shivering. His lips moved, trying for words, but settling with a few nods.

Cesar carefully took his shirt off and wrapped their fluffiest towel around him.

He seemed to become more anxious, eyes darting around the room in frantic glances. After a moment, the shivering calmed a bit.

By the time Cesar had finished changing him, the shivering had ceased entirely.

The box boy still seemed very anxious, but more exhausted than anything. Cesar left and returned with a blanket, which he draped over the person.

For a few moments, Cesar didn’t know what to do next. Should I just let him rest? Should I introduce myself?

Cesar snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of a whimper.

He knelt down realizing the sound had come from the person, who I changed and then left on the couch while hovering over him.

“Hey..this is probably really scary and confusing…but you should rest now. It’s alright you’re out of the awful weather.”

They didn’t know whether the person was understanding them or not, but worth a try.

“I’m gonna try drying your hair with the towel,…Uh..lemme know if I hurt you by accident?”

With that, they held the towel spread out in their hand and gently moved it to the top of his head. As gently as they could, he split the hair into different sections and rubbed the towel up and down.

At first, the box boy remained with his frightened expression, trying to keep an eye on Cesar. He gradually became calmer and looked exhausted. After a while, his eyelids became heavily lidded.

His exhaustion overtook his fear, and he fell asleep with Cesar’s hand in his hair.

[lumpofwhump]

Lighthouse whump

(Inspired by @whither-wander-whump’s idea)

Whumpee’s heart pounded in his chest as he hung over the edge of the railing of the lighthouse. The only thing protecting him from being dropped down onto the rocks below, if not into the sea itself, was whatever bit of mercy Whumper had left in her after his attempt to escape. He shuddered, both from the biting storm winds and from the icy look in Whumper’s eyes that suggested that mercy was in short supply tonight.

“Do you really want to see how long you would last out there, Whumpee?” Whumper yelled over the sound of the wind, holding his thin shirtfront in a tight fist.

“N-n-no, p-please, Whumper!” Whumpee tried to shout through chattering teeth, but his voice was almost too strained for him to hear it.

Whumper’s hand loosened ever so slightly, and Whumpee’s stomach abruptly dropped. He frantically grasped for the railing, but it was too far out of reach, and his hands were too shaky for it to matter.

After a couple more terrifying seconds, Whumper abruptly pulled Whumpee over the railing and threw him roughly to the ground. He cowered against the railing, clinging to it for dear life out of fear of both Whumper and the strong winds.

She stared down at his trembling form with contempt before throwing the door back into the lighthouse open and gesturing toward it sharply. “Get in.”

He scrambled in on hands and knees, whimpering every time he put weight on his ankle - sprained, if not broken, from falling down the long spiral staircase in his attempt to outrun Whumper - and quickly huddled against the huge light in the center of the room for warmth.

“No better than when I found you out there,” Whumper sneered. “You wouldn’t have lasted a day.”

After she’d forced him to walk painfully down the stairs to his room, she’d locked the door to the upper level. Still drenched from the storm, he wrapped himself in his thin blanket and looked out the window at the barely visible beacon across the water and through the storm.

If he’d made it as planned, he would be safe and warm in that other lighthouse with his friend. Whoever they were.

When the storm started to clear, the beacon began to blink. A code tapped out with light, carefully spelling out his friend’s concern.

Are you okay?

His foot throbbed as if in answer, and he sniffled and wrapped the blanket tighter around himself from the cold. He felt ever so slightly warmer, though, as he saw the next message come from over the still-choppy waves.

Stay safe. I’ll find you.

--

Continued here.

[syncopein3d]

Broken World

4: Bad Night

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

CW: badly injured whumpee, implied past violence, loss of consciousness, fear of death, discussion of death, offensive/ignorant cis questions, blood, bruises, broken ribs, difficulty breathing, stranger caretaker, uncertain fate

Ripper ate the noodles without much interest. They felt like they gouged on their way down, and it couldn’t taste much. It wouldn’t be able to for a couple of days. Mostly they kept an eye on Robert as they sat there, in case he dropped the fat styrofoam cup or threw up. Neither happened. Afterward, he set the cup on the nightstand and sloshed water from the bottle around his mouth before he swallowed.

“So, where do you sleep?” Robert asked.

“I’ve got a couple of things to do. Then I’ll lie on top of the other side. It’s a big bed,” Ripper said.

“Yeah, well, if I die just dump the body in the garage,” Robert said. “In case I get back up.”

“Do I want that?” Ripper asked.

“It’d mean your extra work wasn’t wasted.” He leaned back into the pillow stack, swollen eyes all the way shut now.

“Good point.” They threw away the trash and washed the cup and fork they’d used for the noodles. Then they grabbed the duffel and went to take a hurried shower and brush their teeth. In a few minutes they were cleaned, changed into different sweats, and padding barefoot back into the guest room. Robert was still breathing, the wheeze audible, so Ripper shut off the light and lay down facing him on top of the comforter. Its current cheapish smart phone made a small weight in one pocket. It actually thought he was asleep until he said,

“You sleep in a mask?”

“Nobody knows my face, and I’m not starting with you. Go to sleep.” It was all the Ripper could do to keep its own eyes open. Food eased the stomach cramps even if it didn’t affect the overall raw feeling that came from turning itself inside out to pass through the Other Place. Acetaminophen dulled the pain a little. And they were so very tired…

Ripper woke up with a start, rolling backward off the bed to crouch on the floor behind before they even registered why they were awake.

Then the noise happened again, a small, pained bark, and it realized Robert was trying not to cough and failing. They clawed their way back up onto the bed, stifling a groan. It felt like every raw place inside them had stiffened. A glance at the phone said it was six a.m. They must have slept for about six hours. There had been dreams, a snarl of uncolors and pain.

“You okay?” Robert asked. He was half-curled on his side facing away, so he could stay supported by pillows but keep weight off his left ribs. For a second his misshapen nose was there in silhouette as he tried to look over his shoulder.

“Better off than you are. How long have you been coughing?”

“Few minutes, I guess. Hurts like Hell. Is that normal?” His voice wasn’t any less graveled than yesterday.

“With broken ribs, yes. I’ll make tea.”

“All this time I thought people were really weird about pain,” he muttered. “Turns out I wasn’t feeling most of – kaff – fuck! Feeling most of it.”

“How sad for you,” rasped Ripper, already carrying the kettle away to refill. Robert coughed again twice while it was doing this. When it came back he was lying with his eyes closed, face half-buried in the pillow. Ripper thought he had passed out or gone back to sleep for a minute or so. Then, when it was pouring hot water over the black tea bags, he said,

“Why you doin’ this?”

“Good for a sore throat.”

“You know what – kff – what I meant.”

“You said your blood could heal me, remember?” Even to themselves, they sounded dry.

“It can. But you haven’t gone looking for needles or asked my blood type or nothing. Y’don’t believe me, do you?”

“I believe you’d say anything to stay alive.” Ripper shrugged. “I would, too, if I was you. But you did tell me where the carnite was. That’s worth something. And I can’t do anything with it for another couple of days anyway. I’m not busy.”

“Can’t. Why?” A thin sliver of bloodshot eye appeared to regard them.

“None of your business.”

“You’re sick,” Robert said. “Worse than when you found me. That thing you do, it hurts you.”

“Shut up. You want milk and sugar or not?”

“Nah,” Robert said. He eased himself into a more upright position, gritting his teeth. “Thanks. So you can’t travel to sell this shit until you get better. DO you get better?”

Ripper glared down at him. Robert looked back up at him. Then he grinned, showing a couple of missing teeth.

“You don’t scare me,” he said. Ripper exhaled involuntarily, not quite a laugh.

“Fine, you ass. I get better until I have to tear again. It’s never right any more, but tearing is worse. Can you hold this?”

“Yeah. Gimme it.” He held the mug in both hands, inhaling the steam. “So you think you can find somebody to fix you with the carnite so it doesn’t hurt no more. Who would you even trust to do that?”

“I know someone,” Ripper said. “She’s operated on me. She’ll be honest enough as long as I pay up.”

Robert listened as he drank tea, nodding slightly. Then he said, “You don’t think you’ll wake up strapped down and she’ll cut bits off you until you tell her where the carnite is?”

“I think her reputation is worth more to her than nine hundred fifty million dollars.”

“That’s crazy.”

“She’s a very specific kind of crazy. Do you think you can eat a protein bar?”

“No,” Robert said. “Stomach feels weird.” He set down the mug on the nightstand and would have just flopped backward if Ripper hadn’t caught him by the shoulders to help lower him back down. He didn’t wince at the thumb on the bandaged ball of his shoulder.

“Robert?” There was a clotty mumble, then a cough, no real answer. Ripper wedged him into the pillow pile so he would stay upright. They would swear they heard a crackle to his breathing now, mucus sticking to itself and the walls inside when he breathed. He didn’t fight them.

The wounded man slept fitfully all day. He was never awake enough for a real conversation until evening, when he started to really have trouble breathing. At that point, it decided the risk of suffocation was as bad as the risk of a punctured lung. The Ripper peeled back the covers, put a towel over one shoulder, and straddled his legs, pulling him forward. Then, as he lay with the unbroken side of his ribs against their chest, they thumped his back with their fist to help him cough. The sound was awful, and it could hear the wet sound of tarry mucus and blood hitting the terry cloth. Their arms ached, and that made the ache inside worse, but they didn’t even think of stopping.

Afterward, he breathed a little easier. Ripper could feel him trying to wipe his mouth on the towel before he nudged it aside and rested his forehead on their shoulder. It rubbed his naked back silently for a couple of minutes. His skin still felt hot. The NSAID helped the fever, but had not eliminated it.

“Hey, Ripper,” he said weakly.

“Yeah.”

“I’m afraid to die. I thought I never could.”

“Maybe you won’t,” the Ripper said. “It’s too early to say.” Robert grunted, but he didn’t move, so neither did they.

“Will you tell me one thing?” he whispered.

“Probably,” Ripper said.

“You born flat, or you get ‘em removed?”

It pushed him back into the pillows, ignoring his wheezing laugh. He curled onto his side, but didn’t stop for a while as it stalked away to shove the now-horrible towel into the washer.

“Asshole,” they said, as they came to pull the covers back over him.

“You said you’d tell,” Robert gasped. A weak hand clutched at their wrist. They detached it, but carefully, setting his hand back on the mattress.

“I had top surgery. Why do you care?”

“I never knew an agender type – thing - before. Don’t want to die wondering. One more?”

“It better not be about my genitals again, because I’m not answering that.” The fact that he’d said “thing” tempered its annoyance a little. Usually it didn’t even bother with that, because no one would use it. Robert had.

“What d’you call yourself in your head?” he was asking. “Not he or she.”

“It,” Ripper said. “Sometimes they.”

“Yeah. That makes sense.” The swelling in his eyes might be a little less. It was easier to tell when he closed them. Ripper sat on the edge of the bed beside him for a couple of minutes, elbow resting on his hip. After a minute, he said, “Will you stay? It’s gonna be a bad night. If it’s going to happen, I don’t want to be alone.”

“You won’t be alone. I’ll be here,” Ripper said. “But it’s only fair you know that if you do die, I’m rolling your ass off the balcony.”

“Don’ make me laugh again, damn you.”

He couldn’t even drink broth that night. Ripper finished the cup itself. When they had showered they crawled into bed with him under the covers, wearing boxers and a loose tee shirt with the name of a college they’d never been to on it. They pressed up close to his burning body, arm carefully over his belly so that they could feel him breathe.

“Starting to feel floaty,” Robert said. “I don’t think it’ll be long.”

“Sh,” Ripper said. “You’re not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

Robert turned his face into their shoulder. He stayed that way for a long time, his labored breathing loud in the dark room. Ripper held onto him, thumb stroking one of the only unbruised parts of his side, listening to each breath get farther apart.

It was sure he would be dead before morning, that it would one moment be holding a living man and the next moment a corpse. That was bad, but it had done that before in a way that had been much worse. This couldn’t pay for that, but it could at least make it easier for Robert than it had been for Blackknife.

But that wasn’t how it happened.

Ripper snapped awake, arm tightening. Something in the sound of the room had changed. It could feel Robert still breathing –

But it could barely hear him. It lay still for a while, listening, but he had stopped wheezing. Under their arm he breathed easily and regularly, without a hint of obstruction. That couldn’t be. They sat up on one elbow. Robert let his cheek be slid onto the pillow with a small mumble of protest, bur he didn’t wake up. That let Ripper turn far enough to grope around for the hoodie with the smartphone in the pocket. Then it turned the dim half-light of the screen on Robert’s face.

His eyelids were a little dark, but they were smooth, barely swollen. His face was no longer swollen at all, the line of his jaw straight and perfect. His nose was still crooked. Ripper tugged the covers down from his chest to look at his ribcage and was staring dumbfounded at the unbroken and unmarked skin when something hit it so hard in the chest it was knocked backward off the bed.

It knew just enough to cover its head with its arms before it hit the rugs. The phone went flying. Ripper curled on its side, gasping, wondering if its sternum had cracked. Spots danced in front of its eyes, blacker against the black.

“Ripper? Ripper?? Shit!” It was a new voice now. Still a little rough, but strong, definite. They heard Robert slide off the bed, and then felt him scoop them up against his body as if they weighed almost nothing, pulling them into the vee of his legs. “Hey, talk to me. Are you okay? Is anything broken?” He patted at their chest, producing a protesting hiss but no shift of cracked bone. “Fuck. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean -”

“Robert,” it panted.

“Yeah.”

“ Are you better?”

“Yeah. It wore off, finally,” he said.

“Oh. Good,” Ripper said. It let its head rest against a more muscular shoulder than it remembered. Robert was saying something else, shaking them a little, but that was all right. Robert was all right. The thing inside that burned felt farther away...

Ripper felt themselves turning into dead weight, heavy and limp, but it didn't feel important. The world had gone soft and dark.

Part 5

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1019

Submitted by Anon - thanks!

Character A is left for dead in the snow. Character B is someone who doesn't know the whumpee Or the whumper, so imagine their shock when they see a shivering, bloody body in the forest they usually think is safe. Character B takes care of the person but Character A feels bad for "wasting their time"

[scrimblobimblowhump]

the whumperflies are through the roof <33 i love to imagine that their caretakers hold them and rock them a lot

Whumpee is found sick, injured, and half frozen in the woods by a group of strangers. They get them home, warm them up and treat their injuries before putting them to bed. The poor whumpee is still out of it and half conscious, confused about where they are and what's happening. The caretakers stay with them all night, listening to their whimpers and painful coughs, pulling more blankets over their shivering form. If they cry out in the night from a nightmare someone is there to calm them. 1/2

2/2: When they wake up they're groggy and scared, and very weak. The caretakers are gentle as anything with them, knowing how scary the situation is for them. They're still too exhausted and traumatized to talk about what happened to them, but they're cared for as best as possible. The caretakers lay damp cloths on their forehead and spoon broth into their mouth until they're stronger, taking shifts when it comes to sitting with them at night, so they're never alone. Eventually they feel safe.

[jordanstrophe]

Whumpee's rescued by a stranger; who's investigated their disappearance long enough to know who they are, and who they are to caretaker.

As soon as they get them out, they pick them up and hand them straight to caretaker, saying "I believe this is yours."

[abhainnwhump]

Whumper went pet shopping for their dear Whumpee. Their collar is too big for them and they need a smaller one now. They picked out a cute collar and leash set with pink flowers covering it.

They go up to pay. Caretaker is working at the shop as the cashier. They've seen Whumper around a few times, but something about them kept Caretaker from asking. This time, they ask, scanning their products. "So, who's the lucky pup? I'm guessing a shepherd from the size. What their name?"

Whumper chuckled, taking their bag. "It's name is Whumpee. And they're a very special pup. Would you like to meet them one day? I feel like you two would hit it off, Caretaker."

Caretaker smiled. It was mostly out of politeness. Something in Whumper's tone didn't sit right with them. They would have been freaked out that Whumper knew their name if they weren't wearing a name tag. It sounded like they knew it more than that. "Sure . . ."

Whumper took out a post-it note pad from their coat pocket and wrote a phone number down, then they passed it to the cashier. Whumper gave them a polite and cheery smile before walking out of the store, ringing the bell as they did.

Picking the sheet of paper up, Caretaker sighed. They didn't trust that person at all.

[zoethehead]

fever whump prompt

this is somewhat inspired by some bad illnesses i had back in august, september, and november(mainly covid, laryngitis, and some bad colds) it's also somewhat inspired by a story that i read a bit of, as well as a scene from a webcomic, and also a scene from a reboot of "Unknown Soldier" hope you enjoy

-------

The whumpee's trudging through the wilderness, their body sore and wracked with pain, they feel exhaustion slowly making itself known. The ground slowly starts to sway and tilt, disappearing beneath the injured whumpee. The whumpee accepts this, but they still try to fight the dizzying nausea and headache as they collapse, unknowing of when they'd be safe.

-

The whumpee starts coming to.... They open their eyes, the world distorted in their sight, muddied into distorted shapes and sounds that slowly grow more coherent, yet their head still swims, and their body feels sore. "Seems like you're awake." a voice says. The whumpee turns their head, seeing a caretaker nearby, holding a cloth. The whumpee tries to get up, but the dizziness returns threefold, and the now patched up injuries ache.

"Woah there, You've been out for awhile, try to not exhaust yourself right now." The caretaker says, gently resting one hand on the whumpee's shoulder, laying them back down.

The whumpee opens their eyes again; having closed them when they hastily tried to get up, now noticing the bandages wrapped on their body.

"How long have I been out for?" the whumpee asks.

"About 2 days, you were quite honestly conked out when I found you, I brought you back here and help tend to your afflictions, you were also quite feverish too." the caretaker said.

[zoethehead]

I'm yet again applying this trope to my kickboxer character

A wakes up, their head aching. They hear a voice, and start to turn their head, but it hurts. “Sh,” the voice says, gently turning their head back. “You’ve got a head injury. Try not to move too much.”

A asks who they are. They are complete strangers to each other. What does B say about how A ended up in this bed, under their care?

[shes-some-other-where]

“Let me help you.”

Prompt: “Let me hold you.”

Contains: injury, fear, semiconsciousness

“Stay away…” His words sounded strange: foreign, wrong, unintelligible. “Don’t come close.”

If she knew what was good for her, she’d heed his command.

She drifted forward, light and graceful as a ghost. “Why are you here? Who are you?” The question, demanded a second time, made him recoil.

The brightness of her lantern stung.

“You’re hurt,” she breathed.

Her voice was fading. Was it?

“Aren’t you?”

He closed his eyes.

“Let me hold you…” Her voice trailed off, dipping too quiet for him to hear. “I can… Let…help you. Can you stand?”

“Please,” he whispered. “Please just stay away.”

suggested reading order | MWM event masterlist

<<< previous | next >>>

All my writing is original. Feel welcome to interact/comment/reblog. Pls don’t steal or repost.

[runraerun]

Steddie Amnesia Fic — 3/3

Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3

wc: 3k | rating: T | cw: head trauma, brain injury talk | a special thank you to @dame-zoom-a-lot for betaing! <3

The days following Steve’s Houdini act are fuckin’ tense, to say the least.

Eddie had messed up. Royally.

He could’ve sworn that when Steve took off, he’d ducked into the Recovery Center, y’know, the place he was supposed to go! If Eddie had known Steve took a detour and missed the building entirely, Eddie would’ve ran a lot fucking faster than he had. Especially after…

Well, no point in shying away from it anymore; after Steve confessed his love for him.

And how did Eddie return the favor? By being a total bone head and losing Steve for the entire goddamn day! Not to mention a good chunk of the night. Jesus… It’s no wonder Robin’s still sore.

Now, in Eddie’s flimsy defense, Steve had thrown him for one hell of a loop. One that Eddie was still seeing double from. He’s still having trouble wrapping his head around what he’d heard; Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington, King of Hawkins High, being into Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson, the drug-dealing ne’er do well hailing from the Forest Hills trailer park. Forgive him for finding the threads a little difficult to tie together! He’s not exactly Steve’s usual fare.

But it had happened.

Things have fundamentally, metaphysically, allegorically and subatomically shifted between the two of them—there’s no getting away from that, no matter how long they try and dance around this.

Steve said he loved Eddie. Love.

That isn’t something you just move on from. At least, it isn’t something Eddie can move on from. Especially when he didn’t even get to say his piece!

The trouble is that Robin’s in all-out guard dog mode with Steve, keeping Eddie at arm's length even after a whole goddamn week goes by. Sure, she’d accepted his apology (albeit begrudgingly), but she isn’t exactly keen on letting Steve out of the house without her by his side—much less with Eddie. It would be kind of heartwarming if it weren’t so goddamn annoying.

Steve isn’t some damsel locked away in a tower, and Eddie wasn’t some knight in shining armor, planning to scale the side of a stone tower to avoid the sleeping, fire-breathing dragon…

But as Eddie stares up at the fire escape attached to the side of Steve and Robin’s brick apartment building… he'd be lying if he said he didn’t sort of feel a little shiny.

Part of Eddie can’t believe it’s really come to this, but… he just can’t stand the idea of wasting another goddamn night tossing and turning, going over and over Steve’s words in his mind. Thinking about the way Steve’s hand felt in his, the way his eyes went all soft when he told Eddie he—he loved him…

Jesus H. Christ, this is way beyond his skill set—he’s way out of fucking league here, but there’s nothing for it. Eddie needs to settle this, once and for all.

So, he takes his bandana from the back pocket of his jeans and presses the flat of it to his forehead while his hands make a tight knot in the back. He zips his leather jacket as high as it’ll go and gives his hands a shake to try and get the jitters out.

It’s not exactly a helmet and plates of armor, but it’ll have to do. Eddie takes a breath, steels himself, then climbs on top of a precariously stacked pile of milk crates that he’d crafted and leaps for the steel ladder. As soon as his feet leave the plastic tower, it collapses under him, clattering to the ground. Eddie knows he shouldn’t look back, but he sneaks a peak over his shoulder and… yep. He really shouldn’t’ve looked. He’s not that high up, but it’s enough that if he falls, he’d be feeling it tomorrow. Might even bust an ankle if he landed wrong.

He turns back to the task at hand; getting to Steve.

There’s a terrifying moment where he’s not sure if he can pull himself up, but somehow, he finds the strength to do just that. If only Coach D’Amour could see him now!

He grunts as he pulls himself up onto the platform, belly getting scratched against the grates as he goes. Eddie scrambles to get his legs underneath himself. Then, he stands, dusts himself off and takes the win, graceless as it was.

The fire escape is rickety and fucking loud as he takes the steps two at a time. It’s cold enough that even the quickest touch of the steel railings drains all the heat out of his fingers, so he just keeps them balled up, swinging at his sides. The wind is especially chilly up here too, something he hadn’t noticed on the ground, but now that he’s up a couple of floors there wasn’t anything for the wind to buff off except the side of the building and, well, Eddie.

By the time he reaches the third floor, his nose is running and no doubt red and irritated looking, and he’s woefully out of breath.

Kind of a pathetic knight, he thinks as he sniffs back the worst of it, wipes the underside of his nose on the sleeve of his jacket to get rid of what’s left.

The light in Steve’s room is on, reaching out to him through the lines of Steve’s shut blinds.

His hand is raised, wind-chapped knuckles knocking against the glass of his window before he can plan out what he’s going to say. He just wants to see Steve. Get eyes on him again. Work this out.

It’s a painful few seconds before Eddie can see movement from inside the window. He bounces on the balls of his feet as he impatiently waits for Steve to let him in. His breath fogs the window.

Then finally. Finally! The blinds are pulled up. He smiles and—

Oh Christ on a cross. That’s not Steve.

Eddie’s stomach damn near falls out of his ass as the woman on the other side of the glass screams, as shrill and high as if she were next to him.

And of course she’s in a fucking towel.

Eddie slaps one hand across his eyes and the other up in surrender, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Shit, Jesus, I—I’m not a pervert, I swear!”

Debatable, his brain supplies, entirely unhelpful in an emergency situation. But hey, what’s new?

“I was looking for my friend, not—Please stop screaming!” He screams.

“Eddie?” A familiar voice calls from below.

The hand on Eddie’s eyes lift and looks down through the metal grates under his boots. “Steve!”

Steve’s hanging half out his window, peering up at him with a bewildered expression on his face. “What’re you doing?”

Eddie holds his arms out like it should be obvious. “Seeing you!” He snaps.

Eddie’s attention is briefly yanked back to the scandalized looking woman in the window in front of him. “I’m—yeah, I’m gonna—” He backs away, and swings around the escape before thundering down the stairs, shouting another apology up in his shameful retreat.

Steve backs up in order to let Eddie in. He climbs in as gracelessly as ever, all knees and elbows, stiff from the cold. He slides the window shut behind him once he’s in, dropping the blinds for good measure.

He wonders if Hopper is getting a call about a long-haired, wild-eyed, deranged looking peeping Tom at this very moment.

“Smooth.” Steve says from behind him, an edge of playfulness.

When Eddie turns and finally gets a good look at Steve, who looks especially comfortable in his flannel sleep pants and worn sweater, hands on hips. “I was looking for you.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Steve snorts softly, “third floor, remember?”

“I counted! Ground floor, first floor, second floor, third floor.” Eddie says, using his hand to indicate his pattern of thought, moving it up a tick with each floor.

Steve scoffs, shaking his head. And even though Eddie knows Steve’s laughing at him, he can’t help that warm feeling that pours through him, filling him up. All his cracks and edges, sealed up with Steve’s effortless being.

“No.” Steve raises his own hand, mirroring Eddie’s. He begins notching as he explains, “ground floor, second floor, third floor. The ground is the first floor, dude.”

Eddie frowns. “What? Since when?”

Steve levels Eddie with a flat look. “Since like, the civil war, dude.”

Huh. Eddie frowns. Mulling over the new bit of information. That would’ve been nice to know.

“Why were you even doing out there in the first place? We have things called front doors. And, y’know, phones.” Steve crosses his arms across his chest, losing a bit of steam as the words left him. Like he’s realized exactly what Eddie being here, in his rooms, meant.

“I had to see you.” Eddie says, like it’s not the most obvious thing in the world, “Face to face, just me and you.”

“Can’t we just—I don’t know, pretend all of… that never happened? Hell, it might drop out of my head one of these days anyway. Lots of shit does.” Steve’s says, sounding so fucking defeated that it sends a sharp pain through Eddie’s chest.

“Hey,” Eddie makes a face, gets in Steve’s space, “don’t be a jerk to yourself.”

He ducks his head in an attempt to meet Steve’s downturned gaze, which he reluctantly returns. He’s got these big, warm eyes, the color of dark honey—the kind that are hard to look away from, so Eddie rarely does. He’a got a staring problem, he knows, but… damn. Can you really blame a guy?

A nerve in Steve’s jaw jumps when he clenches his teeth together, and salt pools begin forming along the rim of those familiar eyes. When he speaks, it’s stiff. Barely above a whisper. “I’m embarrassed, alright?”

“You don’t gotta be embarrassed, man.” Without thought, Eddie’s hands go to Steve’s arms, fingers hovering around his elbows. Eddie tilts his head again to try and keep eye contact again but Steve seems determined to avoid it.

“Easy for you to say.” Steve huffs, and sits down on the edge of his bed, slipping out of Eddie’s hold, arms still crossed over his chest. “You didn’t totally humiliate yourself in front of your—friend.”

The word, one in which Eddie holds in a most sacred of views, sounds distinctly hollow when Steve says it.

“Steve, listen to me, just for a sec, alright?” Eddie gets down to the floor, one knee buried in the carpet while the others bent out in front of him. “This is my fault.” He confesses, voice full of remorse.

Finally, Steve looks at him. His brows twitch together as he makes a face. “Bullshit.”

“No, it’s true! I—I didn’t mean to, but I’m not exactly big on the whole impulse control thing, as you know, and, thinking back on things I probably… I probably let a few things slip.” Eddie explains, his rings clinking together lightly as he gestures with his hands.

Steve, however, doesn’t look any less confused. He blinks. “What?”

Eddie lets his head fall forward in a moment of defeat as he attempts to gather up his fleeting thoughts. It’s like chasing wet, feral cats up there!

Still, he picks himself back up. For Steve.

“What I’m trying to say is…” Eddie puts his hands on Steve’s knees. Feels the warmth under the soft, worn flannel. The hard muscle. Alive, whole. He tightens his grip. “Steve, I’ve been crazy about you since the first time I ever saw you. Don’t roll your eyes—I’m serious! You sat in front of me in math one year and you forgot your pencil. We were having a test that day, and you asked me if you could borrow one of mine, so I let you have the one I was using. You chewed up the end of it, squashed the eraser to all hell, but then when you gave it back to me, you smiled, thanked me and said, ‘I owe you one.’ It—okay, yeah, so it sounds, like, really small, and probably pretty pathetic, but… I was totally starstruck, man.”

At some point in his little spiel, Steve had uncrossed his arms. So Eddie takes the opportunity to clumsily take Steve’s hands, his insides feeling like a kicked hornets nest. Buzzing. He swallows. “I still am.”

Steve keeps his mouth shut, but there’s a knot in him that’s loosening, Eddie can tell. He’s just gotta keep tugging. He squeezes Steve’s fingers.

“The feeling was cranked up a few hundred clicks because of all the, y’know, near death experiences we went through together. But you get it now, right? You get how this is all my fault?”

“Eddie, you don’t have to—” Steve starts, hands stiffening in Eddie’s hold. Slipping away. But Eddie holds firm, decides to just fucking say it. If Steve could, Eddie could too.

“I’m in love with you too.” He blurts out, and now that he’s said it out loud, it’s like there’s a dam that gets busted inside of him; he can’t stop the rush of words that follows the confession. “That’s what you were seeing. That’s what you were noticing. I thought I was being slick, just keeping it friendly or whatever. Flirting, yeah, but I didn’t think you’d ever actually reciprocate. Because, honestly man, I’m not really used to people taking me all that seriously. ‘Zany, pot-head Eddie, can’t trust anything that comes out of his crooked mouth!’”

Eddie shakes his head, scoffing at his own blind spots, “But… you saw right through that shit—right through me. You didn’t make it up in your head, Steve—you felt it. You were right.”

Steve’s got a funny look on his face, but he nods. A lock of hair falls over his forehead, but he doesn’t remove his hands from Eddie’s to fix it. “You love me?”

That’s like asking if the sun would rise tomorrow morning. Of course. Of course.

Eddie pulls one of Steve’s hands and flattens it onto his chest, over the leather.

“Every time my heart beats, it's your name it calls out, man.” Eddie says, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth when he sees the red creep up on the apples of Steve’s cheeks. “D’you feel it?”

Steve gives a breathless chuckle, hesitating for a split second before he nods, playing along.

Electricity hums under Eddie’s skin, the resulting static snaps in the air around them. Eddie presses Steve’s hand against the wall of his chest a little harder, so that he can feel the pounding a bit better. Then Eddie whispers in time with the rhythm of his lovesick heart, giving it a voice, “Ste-vie, Ste-vie, Ste-vie…”

He keeps chanting until Steve’s grinning, eyes glued to their joined hands. It’s a fleeting thing, though. Eddie watches as that hard-won smile drops and a pinched look takes its place. “Even now? Eddie, I’m not—I don’t think I’m the same person I was before.”

“Are you kidding me? Especially now. In sickness and in health, right?” Somewhere in his brain an alarm sounds, but he doesn’t pause long enough to acknowledge exactly why, lest he lose momentum, “look, Steve, even if you are a little different from the guy you were in high school, you’re still you.”

A beat passes. “What if I never get better?”

“Steve, you will, the doctors said—”

“But what if I don’t? Jesus, Eddie, what if I get worse?” Steve’s voice had gone progressively more hushed as he spoke, as if he were so afraid of its possibility that even voicing it felt risky. Made it real, even in that small way. It’s something Steve’s thought about, Eddie realizes. Agonized over, even.

“Then I’m the lucky son of a bitch that gets to take care of you.” Eddie says, sure as shit. Truthfully, he can’t think of anything else he’d rather do, even if Steve hadn’t done a completely insane thing like falling in love with Eddie. His love isn’t conditional. “S’long as you’ll let me.” He tacks on.

It’s like a wall crumbling. Brick by brick, Eddie watches Steve’s resolve collapse. The rim of his eyes shine with unshed tears, his brow relaxes and his chin twitches. “You sure you want that?”

He scoffs, eyes wide. “It’s all I want.” He answers, quickly. A reflex. Who wouldn’t want to be with Steve Harrington? Eddie thought he was lucky just to be in the same fucking orbit as the guy, but now…

Now, as he watches a smile slowly spreads across Steve’s face—fucking Adonis incarnate—it feels like he won the goddamn lottery.

“Okay.” Steve utters, so softly that for a second Eddie thinks he’d imagined it.

“Okay?” Eddie asks, trying his damndest to keep from imploding. He’s fucking vibrating in his skin.

Instead of answering Eddie, Steve decides to clarify himself by leaning forward and pressing his mouth against Eddie’s.

Fireworks go off inside of Eddie, every inch of him. All lit up. Feels like he’s shining just as good as any knight.

One of Steve’s hands snake their way behind Eddie’s neck, pulling him closer, while the other remains held over Eddie’s jackrabbiting heart. Their lips part, and their kiss deepens. Eddie tries to keep up.

They eventually end up on Steve’s narrow twin bed laying side by side, legs entangled, kissing until their mouths go dry. Eddie swipes a calloused thumb over Steve’s cheek, savoring the feeling of the barely there stubble, the heat from the blush that never seems to subside.

They don’t speak for the rest of the night. Not even a ‘goodnight’ after Steve crawls over Eddie to flick off his bedside lamp, tugging the comforter up around their shoulders as he settles back into the safe harbor of Eddie’s arms. They don’t need words. Not tonight, anyway. Tonight, all they need to do is to rest.

Whatever comes after, they’ll deal with it together.

—

Tag List: (if you’d like to be added to a permanent tag list for all my Steddie fics, please comment/message me! ◡̈ thank you for reading, everyone!)

@stervrucht @taylortheyellowlobster @eyehartart @jinojiboundagain @sleepy-steve @lexgilga @morallyundefined @estrellami-1 @ollieolive @mugloversonly @wheneverfeasible @steddiefication @what-if-a-dragon @wrenisfangirling @yesdangerpls @flustratedcas @scarletyeager @snowstar2368 @starxlark @jizzing-bastard-600and69 @bambibiest @queenie-ofthe-void @lilpomelito @bananahoneycomb @kaspurrcat @deadwhiterosesstuff @3vilpurpl3d0t @loudmariachibands @steddieislife @questionablequeeries @lil-gremlin-things @ellietheasexylibrarian @ajeff855 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @thedragonsaunt @hello-sweetheart @stalactitekilla @archermightbegay @horror-music @breealtair @stevesharingtons @duraffinity @novacorpsrecruit @lawrencebshoggoth @tinyplanet95 @bookworm0690 @shoujo-wizard @weepsluv111 @justalittledrainbamage

[italiansteebie]

steve harrington has a bad habit.

he takes in the dogs and cats no one wants anymore.

he's had elderly dogs, disabled cats, puppies that have grown and lost their sparkle, kittens that had been left in the dumpster. he's taken dogs that families can't handle anymore, and he does it with love. he uses his parents huge house to home animals that deserve it, animals that fill the emptiness.

so what happens after vecna is all said and done, and eddie's dead and gone, and a mangy dog crawls out from under eddie's old trailer while steve's there helping max do some minor repairs? and what happens when steve takes the dog home, names him ozzy, curtsy of eddie taking up every inch of his brain, and nurses the skinny thing back to health, along with the other strays he's taken in.

but ozzy never really liked to be around the other animals, always choosing to curl up next to steve, and maybe it was because he knew how much bigger he was than all of them because, damn. ozzy was a big ass dog.

until one night, steve shoots out of bed, drenched in sweat, chest heaving as he's recovering from a nightmare, and he catches a glimpse of none other than eddie. eddie, who's supposed to be dead. eddie who's supposed to be dead in the upside down, nonetheless, peering at him through his doorway. "what the fuck," he breaths, watching as eddie flinches nervously, "surprise," the metal head cheers flatly.

"what the fuck."