dialogue prompts for a possessive or angry caretaker:
"What are you doing out here?"
"If you don't say something right fucking now–"
"Wake up, for god's sake."
"The fuck did they do to you?"
"As long as you're alive, I don't care how you deal with it."
"Tell me that's not blood."
"Well, you can't do it now, with that fever."
"Get the fuck off them."
"Oi, no, you gotta stay awake here."
"They only wanted it to look bad." "It looks pretty bad for them, alright."
⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚
these are all lines taken from my own writing, some posted, some not. lightly edited for pronouns and to make them fit in prompt format :)
please feel free to reblog, use in your writing, art, whatever you like!! I would love if you tag/credit me if you use any of these prompts as inspiration, I really want to see what you create (I made these because I liked the prompts too!)
Caretaker found them attempting to bandage their own wounds. Their hands shook as they tried to anchor the white strip to their bloody chest, not bothering to clean the injury. It should have hurt. The stranger should have been crying, screaming, but their expression remained neutral; not a single tear joined the blood beneath them.
“Holy…” Caretaker gasped, and the stranger’s head jerked up to search for them. “What happened?”
Despite the pure chaos of noise Caretaker made as they dashed for the injured person, the stranger struggled to locate them through the brush. They pushed themselves to their feet, using the tree behind them for support, and began walking away—a slow, unsteady trek with bandages hanging off their body in multiple places.
The smell of vomit and blood made Caretaker’s stomach churn. A clear path of trampled and stained underbrush opened up and marked the direction the stranger had come from. It also made it much easier to follow them.
Worry tinged their voice as Caretaker gained on them, “Stop! I’m not going to hurt you. Hey, listen, you need help!”
One of the trailing bandages bounced and twisted around a sapling, and the stranger made a sound for the first time. They stumbled, pulled back into the growing tree, and collapsed as it broke under their weight. The whimpering gasp they made seemed to draw out more of a reaction than anything else had. They were afraid.
“It’s okay! Don’t move. It’s okay, I just want to help you.” Caretaker cooed as they cut away the trapped bandages and helped the stranger roll over onto their back. They could feel the person trembling with each light touch. “I’m sorry. I know it hurts. I’m sorry. You’re safe with me. I promise, I’m not going to do anything to hurt you intentionally.”
“I don’t—” The person’s voice was weak and the words unsure. Their eyes widened as they looked up at Caretaker, and one hand clapped over their mouth.
Caretaker pulled their hand away from their face and assessed the scrapes, cuts, and scars covering every inch of it, “You’re alright. My name is Caretaker. Can you tell me your name?”
“Special Unit 305. Designated title: Weapon.” The stranger gasped as their eyes rolled back. The tension in their body eased, and their hand went limp as they lost consciousness.
It wasn’t easy to finish the job bandaging the dying stranger. Caretaker wished they had brought their hiking kit, but they hadn’t expected to run into anyone on that side of the forest or to walk as far as they did. No one ever passed through the section they were in. It was dangerous, no man’s land.
To their surprise, Weapon didn’t wake up through the process.
To their concern, Weapon also didn’t wake up as Caretaker carried them back to their home.
Quickly and with the efficiency of someone with three incredibly clumsy younger siblings, Caretaker cleaned and properly dressed Weapon’s wounds. One on their side looked like a bullet had passed clear through. Long cuts they supposed came from some sort of knife or other blade. Bruises in the shapes of fists and boot treads.
Caretaker decided the last cut needed stitches. It wasn’t long, but it looked dangerous, twisting from their collarbone and up the side of their neck. Of course, acknowledging stitches were needed and actually giving them are two different things. The needles and supplies they needed were in their emergency bag, but they’d never even considered trying actually to do it before.
So, they did what anyone else would do in a situation like that. They pulled up a tutorial video and set it to play on repeat.
The first stitch, they had trouble getting their knot to hold. The second and third were too far apart, so they had to try to fit the fourth in between to keep the wound closed. Fifth and sixth wouldn’t win them any awards, but they would work. And the seventh…
The seventh would have gone exactly where Weapon’s thumb pressed into Caretaker's throat. The stranger was awake and on them faster than Caretaker could blink. With a bang, they slammed Caretaker’s head against the wall, and for a second, Caretaker saw stars.
Weapon stayed silent, chest heaving as their eyes studied Caretaker’s face. Their lips parted like they were going to say something, but closed without a sound.
Instead, their hand lifted, reaching for the thread hanging from their neck.
“Don’t!” Caretaker gasped from beneath Weapon’s slowly loosening hold, “Don’t. It’s not done.”
“I don’t…” Weapon blinked and stumbled, releasing Caretaker to support themselves with the wall on either side of Caretaker’s head. “I don’t want to die.”
Caretaker tried to catch them as they fell to their knees, but Weapon was too heavy. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
whumpee whos shock response is to joke and act like they're completely fine, fools the caretaker and other friends/team into believing they were completely fine or that nothing bad even happened, until a few days later when they get triggered by something simple, a raised voice, someone drops a fork on the ground, a door shuts a bit too loudly, and they completely break.
I'm so taken by the idea of Caretaker and drugged Whumpee. Maybe Caretaker finds them in the aftermath of what Whumper did, maybe Whumper did this to Whumpee and told Caretaker to "clean up the mess". The vulnerability of it, the humiliation.
Whumpee shaking, unable to speak clearly, curled into Caretaker's lap.
Caretaker looking around, waiting for Whumper to come back, because they know that they have to be nearby.
Whumpee trying to explain what happened, but they can't, for whatever reason that may be.
Whumpee apologizing. "I know I'm meant to be stronger than this, I know I'm meant to be better, I don't know why I can't stop crying, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
"I don't want to, I don't want to, I'll be good, I'm sorry."
Whumpee not being able to move... nearly completely immobile, completely in Caretaker's hands, forced to trust that they'll be kind.
"Shh, shh... it's alright, it's just me. You're safe now."
Caretaker calling them pet names, stroking their hair, doing anything they can to try to reassure them.
Whump reveal that happens when Caretaker accidentally stumbles across Whumpee's search history. Hundreds of tabs and inquiries:
How to get rid of scars
Are all scars permanent
Jail time for [x] crime
Does [x] cause permanent damage
Is it ever okay to [x]
Caretaker knew something had happened to Whumpee, but fuck this is a lot worse than they realised. And to make it hurt more, Whumpee didn't even feel like they could ask Caretaker these questions themselves, and instead were overwhelming themself with late-night doomscrolls through hours of conflicting information.
The Whumpee was locked somewhere by their own people, for their own good or for a good reason.
Maybe they are in quarantine, or in isolation, or in the brig for a minor thing.
It was meant to be temporary, or for there to be people checking on them and taking care of them.
But then something happens. Whumpee's people are under attack, there is a natural disaster, some glitch put everyone in lockdown, or just anything bigger is happening and keeping everyone away from Whumpee.
As a result, Whumpee is left alone, where they are locked up.
Maybe Whumpee was delirious or possessed or is amnesic, and now wakes up alone and confused, with no one answering.
Maybe Whumpee knows that something is happening and fears the worst for their friends.
Maybe they are unaware that the others have a good reason to be kept out, and so Whumpee thinks they have been abandoned or are being punished.
Maybe it lasts more than a few hours and Whumpee has to find water or starts feeling hungry. Or feels too hot or too cold if there is something up with the place they are locked in.
Maybe it's pitch dark or way too bright. Too silent, or maybe there is an alarm ringing nonstop.
Maybe the Whumpee was hurt and needs more medical attention, or their painkillers.
Maybe Whumpee is starting to go stir crazy.
Whumpee is skittish. Their heart rate rockets every time they're startled, and they startle easily. They feel about two seconds away from bolting at any moment.
Whumpee is skittish, but they don't flinch. Discomfort doesn't show on their face.
Whumpee is skittish and no one knows it. Maybe they wish people did know, and would be more considerate. Or maybe they're quite happy that such a weakness isn't evident.
Whumpee curls into themself as they grip their hair and try to stifle the flinch they let out at the sound of their name.
It's fine. It's fine, and they're okay, and they asked for this. Caretaker still seems reluctant to continue every time they do it though.
"Whumpee, maybe this is enough for toda-"
"No!" They shout, looking up at Caretaker through their hair with a pained expression. "It's- It's my name. It's mine, and I don't-" Whumpee grips their hair tighter and grits their teeth, "I don't want to be scared of my own name forever Caretaker. It's mine. Whumper doesn't get to take that from me."
Whumpee's expression goes wild and desperate, choking on their words. "I won't let them take my fucking name from me. Not again. Never again."
Sick/tired Whumpee that will sleep literally anywhere if left unsupervised. The bed, the car, a dumpster, a ditch, the top of the fridge.
Caretaker can count multiple times when they found Whumpee asleep on the floor, NOT EVEN COLLAPSING. They would just stare down the floor when walking from the bathroom, think to themself “ah yes an adequate resting place”, get comfy lying down and fall asleep.
Whumpee curls into themself as they grip their hair and try to stifle the flinch they let out at the sound of their name.
It's fine. It's fine, and they're okay, and they asked for this. Caretaker still seems reluctant to continue every time they do it though.
"Whumpee, maybe this is enough for toda-"
"No!" They shout, looking up at Caretaker through their hair with a pained expression. "It's- It's my name. It's mine, and I don't-" Whumpee grips their hair tighter and grits their teeth, "I don't want to be scared of my own name forever Caretaker. It's mine. Whumper doesn't get to take that from me."
Whumpee's expression goes wild and desperate, choking on their words. "I won't let them take my fucking name from me. Not again. Never again."
